SI KLEGG: 


EXPERIENCES OF SI AND SHORTY ON 
THE GREAT TULLAHOMA CAMPAIGN 


BY JOHN MCELROY 



BOOK No. 4 


PUBLISHED BY THE NATIONAL TRIBUNE, WASHINGTON, D. C. 


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ANNABEL, HOW PURTY YOU LOOK. 
(chapter XIII.) 


SI KLEQG 


Experiences of Si and Shorty on the 
Great Tullahoma Campaign. 

5 ^^ 


By John mcElroy. 



PUBLISHED BY 

THE NATIONAL TRIBUNE CO., 
WASHINGTON, D. C. 




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SECOND EDITION — ENLARGED AND REVISED. 
COPYRIGHT 1910 

BY THE NATIONAL TRIBUNE CO. 


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©Cl, A 275571 


PREFACE 


‘‘Si Klegg, of the 200th Ind., and Shorty, his 
Partner,’’ were bom years ago in the brain of John 
McElroy, Editor of The National Tribune. 

These sketches are the original ones published in 
The National Tribune, revised and enlarged some- 
what by the author. How true they are to nature 
every veteran can abundantly testify from his own 
service. Really, only the name of the regiment was 
invented. There is no doubt that there were several 
men of the name of Josiah Klegg in the Union 
Army, and who did valiant service for the Govern- 
ment. They had experiences akin to, if not identical 
with, those narrated here, and substantially every 
man who faithfully and bravely carried a musket in 
defense of the best Government on earth had some- 
times, if not often, experiences of which those of Si 
Klegg are a strong reminder. 


The Publishers. 


THIS IS NUMBER FOUR 
OF THE 


SI KLEGG SERIES. 


CONTENTS. .xi 


CONTENTS 

PAGE. 

Chapter I. — The Tullahoma Campaign; On to Duck River; 

‘'Only 25 Miles to Shelbyville.” 15 

Chapter II. — The Balky Mules; Suggestions Galore; “Shel- 
byville 'Only 18 Miles Av^ray.” 23 

Chapter III. — Third Day of the Deluge; Toilsome Plod- 
ding, and “Shelbyville Only 15 Miles Away.” 34 

Chapter IV.— The Fourth Day of the Tullahoma Campaign; 

“Shelbyville Only 10 Miles Away.” 47 

Chapter V. — Afloat on a Log; Si, Shorty hnd the West 

Pointer Have an Eventful Journey 59 

Chapter VI. — Distressing Enemies Other Than the Rebels, 

and Rain, Mud, and Swollen Streams 72 

Chapter VII. — The Exciting Advance ;Tullahoma, the Great 

Battle That Did Not Come Off 86 

Chapter VIII. — The Glorious Fourth; Independence Day 

Fun on the Banks of Elk River 99 

Chapter IX. — A Little Episode Over Love Letters in 

Chapter X. — After Bragg Again; Restful Summer Days 

End; The Union People of East Tennessee 118 

Chapter XL — The Mountain Folk; the Shadow of an East 

Tennessee Vendetta 136 

Chapter XII. — Si and Shorty in Luck; They Make a Brief 
Visit to “God’s Country.” 147 


Xll 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

Chapter XIII. — Many Happy Events; Hours That Were 

All-too-Few and All-too-Short 163 

Chapter XIV. — The Frisky Youngsters; Trying to Lick a 

Batch of Recruits Into Shape 178 

Chapter XV. — Keyed Up for Action; Marching Into the 

Battle of Chickamauga 192 

Chapter XVI. — The Terrific Struggle; the End of the Bat- 
tle of Chickamauga 205 

Chapter XVH. — In the Hospital; Removed from the Battle- 
field to the Hospital at Chattanooga 214 

Chapter XVIH. — A Disturbing Message; the Deacon Hur- 
riedly Leaves for Chattanooga 226 

Chapter XIX. — Tedious Convalescence; the Deacon Com- 

rpits a Crime Against His Conscience 242 

Chapter XX. — Stewed Chicken; the Deacon’s Culinary Op- 
erations Bring Him Lots of Trouble 258 


CONTENTS. xiii 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE. 

During the Halt for Dinner 19 

“Don’t Call Me Your Gran’pap.” 37 

“Here Goes, Mebbe to Libby Prison.” 55 

“I am All on Fire.” 77 

Si and Shorty Were the First to Mount the Parapet.... 91 

The Bluff Worked 107 

“She Ran Like a Deer, but Si Cut Her Off.” 123 

“You Mustn’t Kill a Wounded Man.” 143 

“Father, There’s a Couple of Soldiers Out There.” 159 

“The First Wad Came Out Easily and all Right.” 165 

“Annabel, How Purty You Look.” 173 

The Recruits Lined Up on the Platform 186 

They Posted the Men Behind the Trees 197 

They Had a Delirious Remembrance of the Mad Whirl 21 1 

The Dead Being Collected After the Battle 220 

“Pap, is That You?” Said a Weak Voice 237 

“He Took Another Look at His Heavy Revolver.” 253 

“If You Don’t Skip Out o’ Here This Minute I’ll Bust Your 
Head as I Would a Pumpkin.” 264 


THIS BOOK IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED 

/ 

TO THE RANK AND FILE 

OF THE GRANDEST ARMY EVER MUSTERED ‘ FOR WAR. 


# 


SI KLEOG 


CHAPTER I. 


THE TULLAHOMA CAMPAIGN — ON TO DUCK RIVER. 
''ONLY 25 MILES TO SHELBYVILLE.^^ 

J UNE 23, 1863, ended the Army of the Cumber- 
land’s six months of wearisome inaction around 
Murfreesboro — its half-year of tiresome fort- 
building, drilling, picketing and scouting. 

Then its 60,000 eager, impatient men swept for- 
ward in combinations of masterful strategy, and in 
a brief, wonderfully brilliant campaign of nine days 
of drenching rain drove Bragg out of his strong for- 
tifications in the rugged hills of Duck River, and com- 
pelled him to seek refuge in the fastnesses of the 
Cumberland Mountains, beyond the Tennessee River. 

“Now,” said Shorty, as they stood in line, waiting 
the order to move, “as Old Rosy has clearly waked up 
to business, I hope to gracious that Mr. Bragg will 
be found at home ready for callers. We’ve wasted 
six months waiting for him to get good and ready, 
and he certainly ought to be in trim to transact any 
little business' we may have Avitti him.” 

“I thipk you, needn’t trouble .yourself about that, 
Shorty,” said Capt. McGillicuddy. “All the news is 
that Bragg is down there in Shelbyville in force, and 


16 


SI KLEGG. 


with blood in his eye. Somebody is going to be ter- 
ribly whipped before the end of the week, and I'm 
pretty sure it won’t be the Army of the Cumberland.” 

“Well, let’s have it over and done with,” said Si. 
“It’s got to be fought out some time, and the sooner 
the better. I wish the whole thing could be fought 
to a finish to-morrow. Then I’d know at once 
whether I’m to live through this war.” 

“I don’t think you’ll be kept long in suspense,” 
replied Capt. McGillicuddy. “Shelbyville is only 25 
miles away. We can’t go forward many hours with- 
out forcing a collision as to the right of way. If we 
can whip Bragg behind the works he has been build- 
ing for the last six months, we’ll settle the whole bus- 
iness for the Southern Confederacy in the West. 
Grant will take Vicksburg, and then we’ll have 
peace.” 

“Only 25 miles,” repeated Shorty. “We ought to 
be squarely up against them not later than to-morrow 
night and one or two days’ lively pounding ought to 
make Mr. Bragg holler enough.” 

“Rosenbaum is as certain as he is of his life,” said 
Si to the Captain and the rest, “that Bragg has the 
bulk of his army at Shelbyville, which, as you say, 
is but 25 miles from here, and that he will draw the 
rest in and fight us behind the awfully big forts that 
he has been building for the last six months from 
Shelbyville to War Trace. Rosenbaum says that he 
knows it for a fact that 3,000 negroes have been 
worked on the forts ever since Bragg retreated there 
last January.” 

“Well, 25 miles isn’t far to go for a fight,” re- 
turned Shorty. “All that I ask is that the 200th Ind. 


THE TULLAHOMA CAMPAIGN. 


17 


be given the advance. We’ll make schedule time to- 
ward Shelbyville, and bring on the fight before early 
candle-lightin’ to-morrow evening.” 

“I guess you’ll have your wish, Shorty,” returned 
Capt. McGillicuddy. “We lead the brigade to-day, 
anyway, and we’ll try to keep the lead clear through.” 

Then the rain poured down so violently that all the 
conversation was suspended, except more or less pro- 
fane interjections upon the luck of the Army of the 
Cumberland in never failing to bring on a deluge 
when it started to march. 

In the midst of this the bugles sounded “For- 
ward !” and the 200th Ind. swung out on the Shelby- 
ville Pike, and set its face sternly southward. After 
it trailed the rest of the brigade, then the ambulances 
and wagons, and then the rest of the division. 

At times the rain was actually blinding, but the 
men plodded on doggedly and silently. They had ex- 
hausted their epithets at the start, and now settled 
down to stolid endurance. 

“We’ve only got to go 25 miles, boys,” Si would 
occasionally say, by way of encouragement. “This 
rain can’t last forever at this rate. It’irprobably 
clear up bright just as we reach Shelbyville to-mor- 
row, and give us sunshine to do our work in.” 

But when the column halted briefiy at noon, for 
dinner for the men and mules, it was raining harder 
and steadier than ever. It was difficult to start fires 
with the soaked rails and chunks, all were wet to 
the skin, and rivulets of water ran from them as 
they stood or walked. The horses of the officers 
seemed shrunken and drawn-up, and the mud was 
getting deeper every minute. 

2 


18 


SI KLEGG. 


“Lucky we had the advance/' said the optimistic 
Si. “We have churned the roads into a mortar-bed, 
and them that comes after us will have hard pullin’. 
I wonder how many miles we’ve made of them 25 ?” 

“I feel that we’ve already gone full 25,” said 
Shorty. “But Tennessee miles’s made o’ injy-rub- 
ber, and stretch awfully.” 

They were too ill-humored to talk much, but stood 
around and sipped their hot coffee and munched sod- 
den crackers and fried pork in silence. Pork fried 
in the morning in a half-canteen, and carried for 
hours in a dripping haversack, which reduced the 
crackers to a tasteless mush, is not an appetizing 
viand; but the hunger of hard exercise in the open 
air makes it “go.” 

Again the bugles sounded “Forward,” and they 
plodded on more stolidly than ever. 

Increasing evidences of the enemy’s presence be- 
gan to stimulate them. Through the sheets of rain 
they saw a squad of rebel cavalry close to them. 
There was much snapping of damp gun-caps on both 
sides, a few unavailing shots were actually fired, and 
they caufht glimpses between the rain-gusts of the 
rebel horsemen galloping up the muddy road to- 
ward the rising hills. 

They pushed forward with more spirit now. They 
came to insignificant brooks which were now raging 
torrents, through which they waded waist deep, first 
placing their treasured ammunition on their shoul- 
ders or heads. 

As they were crossing one of these. Si unluckily 
stepped into a deep hole, which took him in over his 
head. His foot struck a stone, which rolled, and 


THE TULLAHOMA CAMPAIGN. 


19 


down he went. Shorty saw him disappear, made a 
frantic clutch for him, and went down himself. For 
a brief tumultuous instant they bobbed around 
against the legs of the other boys, who went down 
like tenpins. Nearly the whole of Co. Q was at once 



floundering in the muddy torrent, with the Captain, 
who had succeeded in crossing, looking back in dis- 
may at the disaster. The Orderly-Sergeant and a 
few others at the head of the company rushed in and 


20 


SI KLEGG. 


pulled out by the collars such of the boys as they 
could grab. Si and Shorty came to the bank a little 
ways down, blowing and sputtering, and both very 
angry. 

''All your infernal clumsiness,” shouted Shorty. 
"You never will look where you’re goin’. No more 
sense than a blind boss.” 

"Shut up,” said Si, wrathfully. "Don’t you talk 
about clumsiness. It was them splay feet o’ your’n 
that tripped me, and then you downed the rest o’ the 
boys. Every mite of our grub and ammunition’s 
gone.” 

How far the quarrel would have gone cannot be 
told, for at that instant a regiment of rebels, which 
had been pushed out in advance, tried to open a fire 
upon the 200th Ind. from behind a rail fence at the 
bottom of the hill. Only enough of their wet guns 
could be gotten off to announce their presence. The 
Colonel of the 200th Ind. yelled : 

"Companies left into line!” 

The soggy men promptly swung around. 

"Fix bayonets ! Forward, double-quick I” shouted 
the Colonel. 

It was a sorry "double-quick,” through the pelt- 
ing rain, the entangling weeds and briars, and over 
the rushing streams which flooded the field, but it 
was enough to discourage the rebels, who at once 
went back in a heavy-footed run to the works on the 
hill, and the rebel cannon boomed out to cover their 
retreat. 

"Lie down !” shouted the Colonel, as they reached 
the fence, and a shell struck a little in advance. All- 


THE TULLAHOMA CAMPAIGN. 


21 


ing the air with mud and moist fragments of vege- 
tation. 

As they lay there and recovered their breath there 
was much splashing and splattering of mud, much 
running to and fro, much galloping of Aids in their 
rear. The 200th Ind. was ordered to hold its place, 
and be ready for a charge upon the hill when it re- 
ceived orders. The brigade’s battery was rushed 
up to a hill in the rear, and opened a fire on the rebel 
guns. The other regiments were deployed to the 
right and left to outflank the rebel position. 

Si and Shorty and the rest of Co. Q put in the 
time trying to get their guns dry and borrowing am- 
munition from the men of the other companies. 
Both were jobs of difiiculty and doubtful success. 
There could be no proper drying of guns in that in- 
cessant drench, and nobody wanted to open up his 
stock of cartridges in such a rain. 

In the intervals between the heavier showers 
glimpses could be had of the “Kankakee Suckers” 
and the “Maumee Muskrats” working their way as 
fast as they could around toward the rebel flanks. 
The rebel artillery, seeing most danger from them, 
began throwing shells in their direction as they 
could be caught sight of through the rain and the 
opening in the trees. 

“Why don’t they order us forward with the bay- 
onets?” fretted Si. “We can scatter them. Their 
guns ain’t in no better shape than ours. If they hold 
us here, the Illinoy and Ohio fellers ’ll git all the 
credit.” 

“The Colonel’s orders are explicit,” said the Adju- 
tant, who happened to be near, “not to move until 


22 


SI KLEGG. 


the head of one of the other regiments can be seen 
on the hills to the right or left. Then we’re all to 
go forward together.” 

“Yes,” grumbled Shorty, “and we’ll jest git there 
in time to see them Illinoy Suckers hog everything. 
You kin see ’em limberin’ up and preparing to git. 
Just our dumbed luck.” 

It turned oiit just as Shorty had predicted. The 
rebel commander had kept a wary eye on the other 
regiments, and as he saw them gain the point of 
vantage in the open, where they could make a rush 
upon him, he ordered a quick retreat. The other 
regiments raised a yell and charged straight home. 
By the time the 200th Ind. could reach the gap the 
other regiments were in full possession, and the 
rebels out of musket-shot in the valley beyond. 

“I told you so,” snorted the irate Shorty. “Now 
we’ve lost the advance. To-morrow we’ll have to 
take them other fellers’ mud, and pry their teams 
out o’ the holes.” 

“I wonder how many o’ them 25 miles toward 
Shelbyville we’ve made to-day?” asked Si. 

“I heard the Adjutant say,” said one of his com- 
rades, “that we’d come just six miles.” 

“Jewhillikins,” said Shorty sorrowfully. 

Thus ended the first day of the Tullahoma cam- 
paign. 


CHAPTER II. 


THE BALKY MULES — SUGGESTIONS GALORE — ^^SHEL- 
BYVILLE ONLY 18 MILES AWAY.'' 

N ever was there so wild a storm but there 
was a wilder one; never such a downpour 
of rain but there could be a greater deluge. 
“Seemed to me yesterday," said Si, on the morn- 
ing of June 25, as he vainly tried to peer through 
the dashing drench and locate some of the other 
regiments of the division, “that they was givin’ 
us one of Noah's Deluge days that they'd happened 
to have left over. Seemed that it couldn't be no 
worse, but this beats it. I don't think that standin' 
under Niagara Falls could be no worse. How- 
somever, this can't last long. There ain't water 
enough in the United States to keep this up a great 
while." 

“Don't be so sure o' that," said Shorty, handing 
Si the end of a blanket, that he might help wring 
it out. “I believe the Lord sometimes thinks that 
He didn't divide the land and water jest right in 
the first place, and that He'd better 've made a big 
lake o' Tennessee instead o' these old clay knobs for 
rebels and niggers to roost on, and He starts in to 
carry out that idee. I wish He'd finish the job at 
once, and turn the whole blasted region over to the 
navy. It looks as if He had that in mind now." 
“Well," said the ever-hopeful Sf, “the Bible says 


24 


SI KLEGG. 


that the rain falls on the just and unjust alike. If 
it’s tough on us, it’s jest as tough on them. Their 
guns wouldn’t go off any better’n ours yesterday. 
If that regiment in front of us could’ve shot like 
they can on a dry day they’d ’ve made a sick time 
for us.” 

About 60,000 Union soldiers and 45,000 rebels 
struggled through the deluges of rain, the torrential 
streams and fathomless mud those June days, when 
it seemed that every water-gate of the heavens was 
wide open as it had never been before. 

The calamity that Si and Shorty had foreseen 
came about. The 200th Ind. lost the advance of 
the brigade and brought up the rear, which meant 
a long day of muscle-straining, temper-wrecking 
struggles with stalling wagons, discouraged mules 
and stupid teamsters. And as Co. Q was the left 
of the regiment, it caught the worst of all. 

The 200th Ind. had scarcely pulled out of camp 
when its troubles became acute. At the foot of the 
hill which had been carried the day before ran a 
brook, ordinarily quite a modest stream, but now 
raging like a mill-race. The two other regiments 
of the brigade and all of the 200th Ind. but Co. Q 
had managed to get across by means of trees which 
had been felled over the stream at various places. 
Co. Q was left behind to see that the teams got over, 
while the rest of the 200th Ind. was halted on the 
farther bank, to watch the operation and give help 
if needed. Si, with a squad in which was Shorty, 
was ordered to take the first team, which it .hap- 
pened Groundhog drove, down into the stream and 
start it across. 


THE BALKY MULES. 


25 


“Now, be very careful with that wagon,” called 
the Adjutant across the stream. “That has the 
Headquarters’ things and papers. . Don’t let any 
water get into the bed. Cross at the shallowest 
place.” 

Si and Shorty found some poles, and prodded 
around as well as they were able in the crossing to 
find the shallowest place. If there was a part so 
shallow that the bed could be kept above water it 
was very narrow, and would require exceedingly 
skillful driving to keep on it. The whole regiment 
stood around, like a barnyard full of turkeys on a 
wet day, and looked on with an air of soppy melan- 
choly. 

“Groundhog,” said Si, approaching that function- 
ary, “was you watchin’ carefully while me and 
Shorty was pickin’ out the shallow places?” 

“Naw,” answered he, insolently ; “wasn’t watchin’ 
nothin’ but my mules. Got enough to do takin’ keer 
o’ them, without watchin’ a couple o’ fools pro- 
jeckin’ around with poles in a mud-hole. No sense 
in it, nohow. We never kin git acrost that ’ere 
tail-race. Only thing to do is to go back into camp 
till it quits rainin’ and the water runs out.” 

“Groundhog,” said Si resolutely, “you’re not goin’ 
back to camp; you’re not goin’ to wait till it stops 
rainin’. You’re goin’ right over now, as sure as my 
name’s Si Klegg, or I’ll break every bone in your 
karkiss.” 

“I can’t go over,” persisted Groundhog. “I ain’t 
no fool. I know better what kin be done with an 
army wagon and six mules than any Injianny galoot 
that ever wore stripes or shoulder-straps. You 


26 


SI KLEGG. 


simply can’t git a wagon acrost that branch, and I 
ain’t goin’ to try.” 

''Groundhog,” said Shorty, "you’ve bin itchin’ to 
be killed for at least a year, that I know of — prob- 
ably as long as you’ve lived. You ought’ve had a 
stone tied to your neck and bin flung into the crick 
as soon’s you was born. I’ve promised myself a 
good many times that I’d about murder you when- 
ever I had time, but something’s always made me 
neglect it. I’m in the killin’ mood to-day, and I’d 
like to begin on you. I certainly will unless you 
drive that team straight acrost, and don’t git a 
drop o’ water in the bed o’ the wagon.” 

"Come, hurry up, over there,” shouted the Adju- 
tant. "We can’t wait all day. What’s the matter 
with you? Get a move on you.” 

"All right, sir; we’ll start at once, sir,” said Si 
with ostentatious alacrity. 

Shorty slapped his bayonet on, and brought the 
point very near Groundhog’s abdomen. "I’ll jab 
this thing clean through you in a holy minute, you 
pusillanimous basswood cullin’ ; you pestiferous pile 
o’ pizen, rotten punk,” he said savagely. "Git on 
your wheel-mule and gether up the lines.” 

Impelled by this, and the vigorous clutch of Si 
upon his collar. Groundhog climbed clumsily into 
the saddle and sullenly brandished his whip. 

The mules made a start and went down the bank, 
but at the edge of the turbid torrent the leaders 
set their legs as stiffly as if they were the supports 
of a sawhorse. They did not make a sound, but 
somehow the other four understood, with electric 
suddenness, and their legs set like posts. 


THE BALKY MULES. 


27 


“Jest as I expected,” said Groundhog, with a grunt 
of satisfaction; “theyVe balked for all day, an’ you 
can’t git ’em to move another foot if you killed ’em. 
They’re as solid as if they’d growed there.” 

With an air of having encountered the irresistible, 
he started to get out of his saddle. 

“Stay in there, confound you,” said Shorty, prod- 
ding him with his bayonet. “Lick them mules. 
Make ’em start.” 

“ ’Bout as much use in lickin’ a white-oak stump,” 
said Groundhog, plying the whip viciously as a re- 
lief to his feelings. “You kin lick every inch of 
skin olf ’em, and they won’t move no more’n a 
gravestone.” 

“Start those mules along. Stop fooling,” said the 
Adjutant impatiently. 

“We can’t start ’em. They’re balkin’, sir,” said 
Si desperately. 

“Nonsense, nonsense,” said the Adjutant. “Come 
ahead. Don’t you see you’re stopping the Second 
Brigade and all its teams?” 

The men of the Second Brigade were already 
swarming across on the logs, while looking back- 
ward Si and Shorty could see the road filling up 
with teams. They ran down to the lead mules and 
caught them by the bridles and tried to pull them 
ahead. They might as well have pulled at the giant 
sycamore trees growing along the banks. 

Everybody now began to take an interest in the 
affair. It is one of the delightful peculiarities of 
human nature that everybody knows better how to 
manage a balky horse or mule than the unfortunate 
man who is trying to. 


28 


SI KLEGG. 


“Stop whippin’ them mules. You only make 
them wuss/' shouted one man authoritatively. “Tie 
stones to their tails.’' 

“Tie a string around their ears,” shouted another. 
“That’ll be sure to start ’em.” 

“Bite their ears, you fools. Don’t you know noth- 
in’ about mules? Bite their ears, I tell you,” shouted 
a man from Indianapolis. 

“Throw some hot water on ’em.” 

“Tie their feet and tails together with a string.’^ 

“Build a fire under ’em.” 

“Turn the harness around the other way on ’em.” 

“Blindfold ’em.” 

Then the regimental humorists began to get in 
their work: 

“Sing ’em the ‘Battle Cry o’ Freedom.’ ” 

“They’ve struck for more grub. Promise ’em 
double rations till we get to Shelby ville.” 

“Stop swearin’, there, you fellers. You’ve frozen 
’em stiff with your bad language. Pray with ’em.” 

“Read them the Emancipation Proclamation.” 

“Call ’em pet names. You can do anything with 
kindness. Even a mule has a heart.” 

“Bring up the band and serenade ’em.” 

Shorty was raging around the team, kicking and 
striking first at one mule and then at another, and 
swearing like a pirate, alternately at the team and 
then at the jeering crowds. Si was following suit 
to the best of his ability, but his pious education had 
left him out of sight of Shorty when it came to 
using language that the occasion seemed to justify. 
He had, however, yanked Groundhog out of the sad- 
dle and driven him up the bank, where he sat down 


THE BALKY MULES. 


29 


and grinned at the confusion which had overtaken 
his enemies. 

Setting a man at the head of each mule to coax 
and encourage him, and the rest of the company to 
pushing and prying on the wagon, Si had mounted 
the wheel-mule himself and put forth his mule- 
knowledge in one feverish effort, which was as futile 
as it was desperate, for the mules did not seem to 
change their positions for a rest, even, when the 
wagon was forced forward on them. 

A very dapper young Aid, fresh from West Point, 
and with that high appreciation for himself that 
can only be acquired at the United States Military 
Academy, galloped up, sternly ordering everybody to 
make way for him, and — 

“Present the compliments of the Major-General 

commanding the division, and what the h ’s the 

matter?” 

“Capt. McGillicuddy, to whom the young gentle- 
man had been referred as in charge, said quietly: 

“You see: A mule-team has balked and stopped 
everything. We’re doing our best to start them, but 
so far without success.” 

“So we all perceive,” said the young man super- 
ciliously. “Why are you not down there directing 
them ?” 

“The men that I have down there thoroughly 
understand mules, and are doing their very utmost. 
They are having, as you can see, a superfluity of ad- 
vice which is not helping them. I can best help by 
letting them alone to work it out their own way. 
They will do all that men can.” 

“I shall report the case to the General,” said the 


30 


SI KLEGG. 


Aid, with scarcely-concealed insolence. “Just like 
these confounded volunteers,'' he said as he turned 
away, taking no pains to keep the Captain from 
overhearing. “Never will be genuine soldiers in the 
world. Here, my men," continued he, riding over to 
the wagon, “stir yourselves lively, now, and start 
these wagons along. I want no more fooling, and 
won't have it. Start, now." 

Shorty had the usual volunteer dislike to young 
West Pointers; like the rest of the men he cordially 
hated and ridiculed the young and airy staff officers, 
whether from West Point or not. It irritated him to 
see the youngster’s treatment of his Captain. Say- 
ing snappy things at and about the Captain was a 
privilege j'ealously reserved to members of the com- 
pany. To have anybody outside abuse the Captain 
was an insult to be resented. Above all, his Ameri- 
can soul rose in wrath at the patronizing “my men.” 
He would not have been at all offended at one of his 
own rough-and-ready officers jumping in and dis- 
tributing curses on all hands, but “my men" was too 
much for him. 

Without appearing to notice the presence of the 
Aid, Shorty walked up to the lead-mule, gave him 
a tremendous kick in the ribs, and sung out in a 
tone loud enough to be heard across the roaring 
branch : 

“You pernickety pile o’ poll-evil; you hee-hawin’ 
graduate o' West Point; you pin-feathered, taller- 
faced, pop-eyed, Ian tern- jawed, loud-mouthed Sec- 
ond Lieutenant, you, won’t you git up?” 

The other boys began to catch on and grin. The 


THE BALKY MULES. 


31 


Aid's face flushed, but Shorty continued his loud 
objurgations at the mule: 

“You misbegotten pill o’ perdition; you pompous, 
puddin’-headed staff officer; you miserable errand- 
boy for the General, puttin’ on more airs than the 
General ; you half-hatched officer, runnin’ around yit 
with the shell on your head, and pretendin’ to be 
cock-o’-the-walk, won’t you git up?” 

Even the Aid began to understand the drift of 
Shorty’s remarks by this time, and Capt. McGilli- 
cuddy called out warningly : 

“Shorty! Shorty!” 

Si looked in amazement at this new development 
of his partner’s genius. The officers and men on the 
other side of the branch seemed to have forgotten 
for the moment the annoyance of the balked team in 
enjoyment of Shorty’s outburst. 

“Why under heaven they put such murrain cattle 
as you in the army I can’t tell,” he continued with 
another savage kick in the mule’s side. “You only 
take up room from your betters. You don’t fight, 
you only strut like a turkey-cock, and eat and he- 
haw. Now, will you git up?” 

The Aid could not fail to understand now. He 
burst out in a torrent of rage : “You infernal scoun- 
drel,” he shouted, forcing his horse up to Shorty; 
“I’ll have you shot for insubordination, for insulting 
and mutinous language to your superior officer.” 

“I wasn’t sayin’ nothin’ to you,” said Shorty, 
looking up with an air of surprise. “I hain’t had 
nothin’ to do with you. I was cussin’ this other 
piebald pilgarlic from West Point; this other pig- 
headed pickaninny o’ the Regular Army ; this Brevet 


32 


SI KLEGG. 


Second Lieutenant o’ the Quartermaster’s Depart- 
ment, and Aid on the staff o’ Gen. Groundhog. You 
ain’t my superior officer, nohow.” 

‘"Corporal,” shouted the Aid to Si, “take this ras- 
cal up there on the bank and buck-and-gag him. Do 
it at once.” 

“I don’t believe you have the right to give me 
orders, sir,” said Si respectfully. “I am under Capt. 
McGillicuddy’s orders.” 

“You are right. Corporal,” said Capt. McGilli- 
cuddy, stepping forward. “Lieutenant, you cannot 
order one of my men to be punished. You have no 
right to command here. You are merely to convey 
the General’s orders to those who are in command.” 

“I have the right to give orders. I represent the 
General, and speak in his name, and I order that 
man to be bucked-and-gagged,” reiterated the Aid in 
a flame of anger. “I’ll see that it is done. I shall 
not be so insulted before the whole army. It will 
destroy all discipline.” 

“Fortunately, the discipline of the army does not 
depend on the respect shown Second Lieutenants,” 
Capt. McGillicuddy could not help saying. “If you 
have any complaint to make against one of my men, 
state it to me, their Captain, or to the Colonel of the 
regiment. We are the persons, not you, to deal with 
them.” ^ 

The men around understood ; nothing pleased them 
better than to see a bumptious young Aid sat down 
upon, and they were outspoken in their delight. 

“I shall report you to the General, and have you 
court-martialed,” said the Aid, shaking his fist at 
Capt. McGillicuddy. “I shall” 


THE BALKY MULES. 


33 


“Mr. Farwell/^ said the Chief of Staff, riding up, 
“why haven’t you reported to the General as to the 
trouble here? WeVe been waiting for you.” 

“Here,” came the clear-cut tones of the Colonel 
across the branch ; “no use of wasting any more time 
on those mules. They’re there to stay. Unhitch 
them, fasten on a picket-rope, and we’ll pull the 
wagon across from this side.” 

Everybody sprang to execute this order, but Si 
and Shorty’s hands had not reached the traces when 
an idea seemed to shoot simultaneously through each 
of the six mules, and with one impulse they plunged 
ahead, directly into the swollen waters. 

Si and Shorty sprang back toward their heads to 
guide them over the narrow crossing. But the mules 
seemed to take the right course by instinct, and 
landed the wagon safely on the other side, without a 
particle of water entering the bed. Everybody 
cheered, and Si and Shorty looked as if their minds 
had been relieved of a terrible load. 

“Si,” said Shorty, with a tinge of weariness in his 
tone, “they say it is about 18 miles from here to 
Shelbyville.” 

“Somethin’ like that,” answered Si. 

“I think there are about three o’ these cricks to 
every mile. Do you really suppose we’ll be able to 
git there before our three years is up?” 

“All depends on the mules,” answered Si cheerily. 
“If this sudden spell o’ goodness holds out we may 
get there before evening.” 


CHAPTER III. 


THIRD DAY OF THE DELUGE — TOILSOME PLODDING, 
AND ‘'SHELBYVILLE ONLY 15 MILES AWAY.” 

I T SEEMS impossible, but the third day's rain 
was even worse than that of the two preceding. 
The drops seemed much larger, to follow each 
other faster, and with less interval between the 
downpours. 

“Does it always rain this way in June down here?” 
Si asl^ed a patriarch, who was sitting on his porch 
by the roadside in a split-bottomed rocking-chair, 
resting his bony hands on a cane, the head of which 
was a ram's horn, smoking a corn-cob pipe and 
watching the passing column with lack-luster eyes. 

“Sah,” said the sage, poking down the ashes in 
his pipe with his little finger, “I've done lived in 
the Duck River Valley ever sence Capting Jimmy 
Madison wuz elected President the fust time, and I 
never seed sich a wet spell as this afore. I reckon 
hit's all along o' the wah. We allers have a power- 
ful sight o' rain in wah times. Hit rained powerful 
when Jinerul Jackson wuz foutin' the Injuns down 
at Hoss Shoe Bend, and the Summers durin' the 
Mexican war wuz mouty wet, but they didn't hold 
a candle to what we're havin' this yeah. Hit's the 
shootin' and bangin', I reckon, that jostles the clouds 
so's they can't hold in.” 


THIRD DAY OF THE DELUGE. 


35 


“How far is it to Shelbyville, Gran’pap?'’ asked 
Shorty. 

“Don’t call me yer gran-pap,” piped out the old 
man in angry falsetto, and shaking his cane. “I 
won’t stand hit. I won’t stand everything. I’ve had 
enough ter stand from you Yankees already. You’ve 
stole my chickens an’ robbed my smoke-house, an’ 
run oif my stock, an’ I’ve done stood hit, but I won’t 
stan’ bein’ called gran’pap by ye. I’ve some mouty 
mean grandsons, some that orter be in the peniten- 
tiary, but I hain’t none mean enough t’ be in the 
Yankee army.” 

“We didn’t mean no offense, sir,” said Si placat- 
ingly. “We really don’t want you for a gran’father. 
We’ve got gran’fathers o’ our own, and they’re very 
nice old men, that we wouldn’t trade off for anything 
ever raised in Tennessee. Have you anything to 
eat that you’ll sell us? We’ll pay you for it.” 

“No, I haint got nothin’ — nary mite,” quavered 
the old man. “Your men an’ our men have stole 
everything I have — stock, cattle, sheep, hogs, poul- 
try, meat an’ meal — everything, except my bare land 
an’ my hope o’ heaven. Thank God, none on ye kin 
steal them from me.” 

“Don’t be too blamed sure about that, old feller,” 
said Shorty. “Better hide ’em. The Maumee Musk- 
rats are jest behind us. They’re the worst thieves 
in the whole army. Don’t let ’em know anything 
about your land or your hope o’ salvation, or they’ll 
have it in their haversacks before you kin wink.” 

“You haint told us yit how far it is to Shelbyville,” 
said Si. 

“Young man,” said the sage oracularly, “that al- 


SI KLEGG. 


. 36 

together depends. Sometimes Shelbyville is mouty 
fur off, an’ sometimes she is right here. On bright, 
cl’ar days, when the roads is good, hit’s only a few 
steps over thar — ^jest two sees an’ a holler.” 

‘‘What’s that?” said Si. “Two sees an’ a holler? 
How far is that?” 

“He means,” explained Shorty, “that you go as 
far as you kin see from the highest hilltop to the 
next highest hill-top twice, and then it’s only about 
as much farther as your voice will reach.” 

“Jest so,” asserted the patriarch. “I kin saddle my 
ole nag arter dinner, rack over an’ do some tradin’, 
an’ rack back agin in time for supper. But when 
we have sich sorry weather as this, Shelbyville seems 
on t’ other side o’ nowhar. You’ve got t’ pull through 
the mud an’ swim every branch and crick, an’ you’re 
mouty lucky if you git thar in a week.” 

“Why don’t you build bridges over the creeks?” 
asked Si. 

“Can’t do hit when hit’s rainin’ an they’re runnin’ 
over thar banks.” 

“But why don’t you do it when the weather’s 
good ?” 

“What’s the use? You kin git over all right then.” 

“Sir,” said the Brigadier-General, riding up and 
addressing the old man, “where does the Shakerag 
road come into the Bellbuckle road?” 

Instantly the old man felt that he was being asked 
to give “aid and information to the enemy,” and 
his old eyes grew hard and his wrinkled face set. 
“I don’t know, sah.” 

“Yesr you do,” said the Brigadier-General impa- 
tiently, “and I want you to tell me.” 


THIRD DAY OF THE DELUGE. 


37 


“I don’t know, sah,” repeated the old man. 

“Are there any works thrown up and any men out 
there on the Shakerag road?” asked the Brigadier. 

“I don’t know, sah.” 

“Did a large body of rebels go past your house 



“DON’T GALL ME YOUR GRAN’PAP.” 


yesterday, and which road did they take at the 
forks?” inquired the Brigadier. 

“I don’t know, sah.” 

The Brigadier-General was not in the best of 
humor, and he chafed visibly at the old man’s an- 
swers. 



38 


SI KLEGG. 


“Does not Goober Creek run down there about a 
mile in that direction?’' he again inquired, pointing 
with his field-glasses. 

“I don’t know, sah.” 

“How long have you lived here ?” asked the Briga- 
dier savagely. 

“Nigh on to 55 year, sah.” 

“And you don’t know where Goober Creek is, and 
which way it runs?” asked the Brigadier, losing all 
patience. 

“No, sah,” responded the imperturbable old man. 

“Well,” said the Brigadier-General grimly, “it is 
high time that you discovered that interesting 
stream. You might die without seeing it. Men (to 
Si and Shorty) take him down that road about a 
mile, where you will find a considerable body of 
water which I’m given to understand is called Goober 
Creek. You’ll show it to him in all its magnificence 
and beauty. Geography is a very interesting study, 
old man, and it is not too late for you to begin get- 
ting acquainted with your own country.” 

The bitter humor of taking a man through the 
mud and pouring rain to see a creek that he had seen 
nearly every day of his life for a half-century was 
such that all the men were in a mood to appreciate. 
Si and Shorty entered into the affair with zest. They 
put a blanket on the old man’s shoulders, to shelter 
him from the rain. Such a thing as an umbrella had 
never been in his house. Even the women would 
have looked upon it as a piece of luxurious effem- 
inacy. 

The old fellow grumbled, expostulated, and pro- 
tested, but if Si and Shorty had had no other motive. 


THIRD DAY OF THE DELUGE. 


39 


ord-is direct from the Brigadier-General would have 
been executed at any cost. It was the first time that 
they had ever received orders from anybody higher 
than the Colonel, and the effect upon them was ex- 
traordinary. 

“Vvhat in the everlastin' kingdom,” grumbled he, 
“kin your niggah-lovin' Yankees expect t' gain by 
draggin’ me out when hit's a-rainin' cats and dogs?” 

“Don't know nothin' about it,” answered Si, catch- 
ing him by the shoulder to hurry him up. “ 'Tain't 
our business to know. We ain't paid for knowin' 
anything more than orders, and hardly enough for 
that. A man can't know much for $13 a month.” 

“ 'Twon't help yer niggeh-stealin' army a mite t' 
pi'nt out Goober Crick t' me. I ain't gwine t' tote 
ye over nor show ye the fords.” 

“Don't care nothin' about that neither,” replied 
Shorty, as they pushed the old man along through 
the blinding rain. “Our orders is merely to show 
you Goober Crick. 'Tain't none o' our business what 
the General wants you to see it for. Mebbe he thinks 
it 'll improve your mind to gaze on the beauttw o' 
nature. Mebbe he thinks you need exercise. Mebbe 
he thinks a shower-bath'd do you good.” 

The column had been checked by some difficulty 
in front, and as the boys conveyed their charge 
through the ranks of waiting men it seemed that 
everybody understood what they were doing, and 
volleys of sarcasm were flung at their prisoner. 
There were inquiries as to how he liked the study of 
geepraphy as far as he had gotten; whether he 
woula continue it in more favorable weather, and 
whether this primary lesson would be followed by 


40 


SI KLEGG. 


others on the road to the mill, the path to the stable, 
and the way to the spring. If the old man had not 
already been as angry as he could be, his temper 
would have risen. 

After a lot of toilsome plodding through the rain 
and mud which the passing wagons had made fath- 
omless, they came to the top of a high hill, from 
which they could look down on a turbid sweep of 
yellow water, about half a mile away, which filled 
nearly the whole valley. 

The reason of delay was at once apparent. The 
insignificant stream had suddenly become an almost 
impassable obstacle. Men were riding carefully 
across the submerged bottom land, prodding with 
poles, to pick out crossings. Others were digging 
down approaches to what seemed promising cross- 
ings, and making rude bridges across gullies and 
smaller streams that intervened. 

It seemed that the fresh young Aid with whom the 
boys had the encounter the day before had in some 
mysterious way gained charge of the advance. He 
had graduated into the Engineer Corps from West 
Point, and here was an opportunity to display his 
immense knowledge to the glory of himself and the 
Engineers and the astonishment of those inferior 
persons who were merely officers of cavalry, infan- 
try and artillery. Now he would show off the 
shrewd expedients and devices which have embel- 
lished the history of military engineering since the 
days of Hannibal and Julius Cesar. 

That everybody might know who was doing all 
this, the Aid was riding back and forward, loudly 
commanding parties engaged in various efforts over 


THIRD DAY OF THE DELUGE. 


41 


more than a quarter of a mile of front. He had 
brought up the pontoon-train, and the pontoniers 
were having a hard time trying to advance the boats 
into the rushing waters. It was all that the men 
could do to hold them against the swift current. If 
a pole slipped or went down in a deep hole the men 
holding it would slip and probably fall overboard, 
the boat would whirl around and drift far out of its 
place, requiring great labor to bring it back again, 
and bringing down a torrent of curses from the 
young Lieutenant on the clumsiness of “the Stough- 
ton bottles'' who were pretending to be soldiers and 
pontoniers. He was feeling that every word of this 
kind showed off his superior knowledge to those 
around. Some of the men were standing waist-deep 
in the water, trying to fasten lines to trees, to hold 
in place the boats already stationed and being held 
there by arms straining at the poles. Everywhere 
those engaged in the work were tumbling down in 
the water or being carried off their feet by the cur- 
rent and rescued again with difficulty, to be hauled 
out on the bank, exhausted, soaked to the skin and 
covered with slimy mud. 

For awhile this had seemed funny to the troops 
waiting to cross, and they had yelled and laughed 
themselves hoarse at the mishaps of their comrades. 
Now the fun had all evaporated and everybody was 
morose, with a strong tendency to outbreaks of pro- 
fanity. 

The old man surveyed the scene with evident sat- 
isfaction. “Yo' Yankees will git over thar about 
the middle o' July," he chuckled. “Now, I reckon 


42 


SI KLEGG. 


that^s Goober Crick, an’ as I have done seed hit 
you’ll let me go back home, I s’pose, won’t ye?” 

“That’s probably Goober Crick, or at least Goober 
Crick is somewhere under that muddy freshet,” ac- 
quiesced Shorty. “But I’m not at all sure that it’s 
the crick. Looks more like a misplaced chunk out o’ 
the Mizzoori River. I’m not sure, either, that your 
eyes kin see that distance. We’ll have to walk you 
till we find a section of the crick somewhere that kin 
be recognized by the naked eyes. Come along, and 
step lively.” 

The old man groaned, but there was no hope for 
him from these relentless executants of orders. For 
a half hour more they plodded on. The mud grew 
deeper at every step, but the boys mercilessly forced 
the old man through the worst of it, that they might 
reach some point where they could actually see 
Goober Crick. He could not palm off on them any 
common old mud freshet for a creek- that had a reg- 
ular place on the map. 

Finally they came near the pontoons, and saw one 
almost capsize, throwing everybody in it into the 
water, while another whirled madly away toward the 
center of the current, with but one man in, who was 
frantically trying to stop it and save himself. 

“Yes, he’ll stop it, much,” said Shorty, looking 
after him. “If he gits ashore before he reaches the 
Mississippi I’ll be surprised. Say, Si, it’ll be easier 
lookin’ for Goober Crick in a boat than wading 
through the mud. Let’s git in one o’ them boats.” 

This terrified the old man till he was ready to 
yield. 

“I begin t’ know the place,” he admitted. “If we 


THIRD DAY OF THE DELUGE. 


43 


take this path through the woods t' the left hit'll 
bring us out whar yo' kin see Goober Crick for 
sartin, an’ no mistake. Hit’s allers above high-water 
thar.” 

The boys followed. A very short walk through 
a curtain of deep woods brought them on to much 
higher ground, where Goober Creek roared through 
a narrow channel it had cut in the rocks. As they 
stood on the banks, Si and Shorty’s eyes met in a 
quick comprehension of the advantages of the place. 
They looked backward through the woods to see a 
depression in the hills, which promised a short and 
comparatively easy cut-off to the road in the rear, 
where the 200th Ind. lay. 

''Yes, this is Goober Crick,” said the old man, 
with an air of recalling an old acquaintance. "I’m 
sure of hit. Now, you’ll let me go home, won’t yer?” 
I hain’t got a dry thread left on me, an’ I know I’ll 
jest fairly die o’ rheumatiz.” 

"Yes, you can go,” said Shorty, who was filling his 
eyes with the lay of the ground, and the chances it 
offered of getting the 200th Ind. across ahead of the 
others and gaining the coveted head of the column. 
"I’ve no doubt you’re awful wet, but mebbe you 
know more’n you did a couple of hours ago. Skip !” 

The old man moved off with alacrity scarcely to be 
expected of him, and the boys saw that it was wisest 
to follow him, for he was taking a bee-line through 
the woods and brush for his home, and that they 
knew was near where they had left their regiment. 

Soon Co. Q, crouching under the cedars and pon- 
chos spread over fence corners, hovering around 
struggling fires, and sullenly making the best of a 


44 


SI KLEGG. 


very poor prospect, was electrified by Si and Shorty 
appearing on as near a run as they could put up with 
their weight-soaked garments. 

“Capt. McGillicuddy,'’ gasped Si, ‘VeVe found a 
bully place to cross. Tell the Colonel quick. Let the 
boys git all the axes and shovels they kin, and come 
with us. We’ll have a crossin’ ready by the time the 
Colonel comes up with the regiment, and we kin git 
the advance agin.” 

Si had gained that enviable position in the regi- 
ment where he could always have plenty of follow- 
ers to anything that he proposed. The sullen de- 
spondency passed into active alertness as soon as he 
began speaking, and before he was done some of 
them were rummaging around the wagons for axes 
and shovels. Two or three of these implements were 
found in the old man’s yard. 

'‘Co ahead,” said the Captain. "I’ll speak to the 
Colonel, and we’ll follow you with the regiment. 
You can get the teams across, too?” 

"Certain,” said Si, as he handed his gun, cartridge- 
box, haversack, blanket-roll and overcoat to another 
boy to carry for him, shouldered his ax and started 
off at a run, the others following. 

They came back to the spot whither the old man 
had led them. Si’s experienced eye quickly selected 
two tall hickories, which could be felled directly 
across the stream and form the stringers for his 
bridge. The next instant the damp air was ringing 
with the strokes of eight as skillful axmen as there 
were in the army. Si leading on one tree and Shorty 
on the other. They could not keep up the feverish 
pace they had set for many minutes, but the in- 


THIRD DAY OF THE DELUGE. 


45 


stant their blows relaxed eight other men snatched 
the axes, and in a few minutes the trees toppled and 
fell just in the right position. Co. Q was now com- 
ing up, followed by the rest of the regiment, and 
they gave a cheer to echo the crash of the falling 
trees. Instantly hundreds of men and officers were 
at work clearing a road and completing the bridge. 
Some cut down other trees to furnish filling for the 
approaches, or to split into flooring for the bridge. 
Some dug down the bank and carried the clay to 
cover the brush and chunks. In an incredibly short 
time a bridge was completed, over which the regi- 
ment was marched, and the wagons pulled by the 
men, after the mules had been detached and walked 
over. 

Every fresh success was announced by tremendous 
cheering, which carried information to the rest of 
the brigade that the 200th Ind. was doing something 
unusual. News as to what this was at last reached 
the ears of the Lieutenant of Engineers, who was 
continuing his struggle with the pontoons with a per- 
sistence worthy of better luck. 

He rode up just in time to see Capt. McGillicuddy 
looking with elation at the passage of the last wagon. 

‘‘Why was I not informed as to what you were 
doing here, sir?'’ he asked angrily. 

“Probably because we were too busy doing it to 
be talking about it. If you had known of it you 
would probably have tried to apply the 47th prob- 
lem of Euclid to the case, and we wouldn’t ’ve got- 
ten over for a week. Eventually, sir, I expect you 
will find out that there are several things in the 
world that are not learned at West Point. Having 


46 


SI KLEGG. 


accomplished all that we want with the bridge, I now 
have the pleasure of turning it over to the Engineer 
Department, and I wish that you may find it very 
useful,” continued the Captain, as with a mocking 
smile and salute he followed the last of the regi- 
ment across the creek. 

‘"Adjutant,” said Si, saluting that official with 
great respect, “we’ve now got the advance agin, 
hain’t we?” 

“You’re right we have, you bully boy with a glass 
eye,” said the Adjutant, slapping him on the shoul- 
der with a familiarity that would have given the 
young Engineer Lieutenant a spasm and caused a 
strong report on the discipline of the 200th Ind. 
“And you can just bet we’ll keep it, too. You ought 
to see the Colonel’s eye. We’ll lead the procession 
into Shelby ville, which is only 15 miles away.” 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE FOURTH DAY OF THE TULLAHOMA CAMPAIGN. 
'‘SHELBYVILLE ONLY 10 MILES AWAY.^^ 

' i 

A nd it rained the fourth day — rained as if 
there had been months of drouth, during 
which it had been saving up water and gath- 
ering its energies for an astonishing, overwhelming, 
make-up-for-lost-time effort. 

“Great goodness,’’ said Si, as he and Shorty were 
again wringing their blankets out to lighten the load 
they would start with; “seems to me they’re tryin’’ 
to move Lake Superior down here, and dumping the 
water by train-loads.” 

“Old Rosey ought to set us to buildin’ arks,” grum- 
bled Shorty. “We’ll need ’em as bad as Noah did.” 

There was an alleviation to the weather and mud 
in the good news that came from all parts of the 
long front of 75 miles, on which the 60,000 men of 
the Army of the Cumberland were pressing for- 
ward against their enemies in spite of the apparent 
league of the same with the powers of the air 
against them. Away off on the extreme right Gen. 
Mitchel’s cavalry had driven the enemy from Triune, 
Eagleville, Rover, and Union ville ; Gordon Granger’s 
and Crittenden’s infantry were sweeping forward 
through Salem, Christiana, and Bradyville; grand 
old Pap Thomas, in his usual place in the center, 
had swept forward with his accustomed exhibition 


48 


SI KLEGG. 


of well-ordered, calmly-moving, resistless power, and 
pushed the enemy out of his frowning strongholds at 
Hoover’s Gap; McCook, whose advance had that 
splendid leader, John F. Miller, had struck success- 
fully at Liberty Gap, and far to our left the dash- 
ing Wilder had led his '‘Lightning Brigade” against 
the enemy’s right and turned it. The higher officers 
were highly elated at the success of Gen. Kose- 
crans’s brilliant strategy in forcing the very formid- 
able outer line of the enemy without a repulse any- 
where. Their keen satisfaction was communicated 
to the rank and file, and aroused an enthusiasm 
that was superior to the frightful weather. Every- 
body was eager to push forward and bring Bragg 
to decisive battle, no matter how strong his labori- 
ously-constructed works were. 

"Old Rosey may be a little slow to start,” Shorty 
held forth oracularly to the group crouching over 
the fire, "but when he does start, great Scott, but 
he’s a goer. I’ll put every cent I may have for the 
next 10 years on him, even though he’s handicapped 
by a Noah’s deluge for 40 days and 40 nights. And 
when it comes to playin’ big checkers, with a whole 
State for a board, and brigades and divisions for 
men, he kin skunk old Bragg every time, without 
half tryin’. He’s busted his front row all to pieces, 
and is now goin’ for his king-row. We’ll have Bragg 
before Grant gits Pemberton, and then switch 
around, take Lee in the rear, capture Richmond, end 
the war, and march up Pennsylvania Avenue before 
Old Abe, with the scalps o’ the whole Southern Con- 
federacy hangin’ at our belts.” 

"Wish to Heaven,” sighed Si, "Old Rosey’d thought 


FOURTH DAY OP THE CAMPAIGN. 


49 


to bring along a lot of Ohio River coal scows and 
Wabash canal-boats to make our campaign in. What 
fun it'd be jest to float down to Shelby ville and fight 
those fellers with 100 rough-and-ready gunboats. 
Then, I'd like awfully to know once more what it 
feels like to have dry feet. Seems to me my feet 
are swelling out like the bottom of a swamp-oak." 

“Hope not, Si," said Shorty. “If they git any 
bigger there won't be room enough for anybody else 
on the same road, and you'll have to march in the 
rear o' the regiment. Tires me nearly to death now 
to walk around 'em." 

“There goes the bugle. Fall in, Co. Q," shouted 
the Orderly-Sergeant. 

As the 200th Ind. had the advance, and could 
leave the bothersome problems of getting the wagons 
across the creeks to the unlucky regiment in the 
rear, the men stepped off blithely through the swish- 
ing showers, eager to find the enemy and emulate 
the achievements on previous days by their com- 
rades on other parts of the line. 

Being as wet as they could be, they did not waste 
any time about crossing streams. The field officers 
spread out and rode squarely at the most promis- 
ing crossings in sight. The men watched their 
progress, and took the best they found. If the 
water did not get above the middle of the sides of 
the Colonel's medium-sized horse, they took off their 
haversacks and unbuckled their cartridge-boxes, 
and plunged in after him, the shorter men pairing 
off with the taller men, and clinging to them. 

So eager was their advance that by the time they 
halted at noon for a rest and a cup of coffee, they 

3 


50 


SI KLEGG. 


were miles ahead of the rest of the brigade, and 
beginning to look forward to catching glimpses of 
Shelbyville. 

They had encountered no opposition except long- 
taw shots from rebel cavalry watching them from 
the opposite sides of the yellow floods, and who 
would scurry away' as soon as they began to cross. 

The young Aid again appeared upon the scene. 

“Colonel,"’ he said, saluting, “the General pre- 
sents his compliments, and directs that you advance 
to that next creek, and halt there for the night and 
observe it.” 

“What did that young man remark?” said Shorty 
in an undertone; “that we wuz to advance to that 
crick and observe it? What in the thunder have 
we bin doin’ for the past four days but observe 
cricks, an’ cross the nasty, wet things?” 

“He means. Shorty,” said Capt. McGillicuddy, 
“that we are to go as near as we can to the bank, 
and watch, that the rebels do not come across, and 
wait there until the rest of the division get in sup- 
porting distance.” 

“I guessed that was what his West Point lingo 
meant, if he has brains enough to mean anything. 
Why didn’t he say in plain United States : 'Git down 
to the edge o’ that there crick, watch for a chance 
to jump the rebels, and keep your eye peeled that 
the rebels don’t jump you?’ That’d be plain 
Methodist-Episcopal, that everybody could under- 
stand.” 

“I’ll see that you are appointed Professor of 
Military Language and Orders at West Point when 
you are discharged,” said the Captain, laughing. 


FOURTH DAY OF THE CAMPAIGN. 


51 


The regiment advanced to the edge of the swollen 
flood and made themselves as comfortable as pos- 
sible under shelters improvised from rails, cedar 
boughs, pieces of driftwood, etc. A considerable 
force of rebels appeared on the opposite bank, whose 
business seemed to be to “observe” the Yankees. 

The restless Si and Shorty started out on a pri- 
vate reconnoissance. They discovered that the 
shore opposite the left of the regiment was really 
an island, separated by some hundreds of yards of 
rushing water from them, but the main current ran 
on the other side of the island. 

“We can't observe the crick through that mass o’ 
willers and cottonwoods,” said Shorty. “That’s cer- 
tain. No tollin’ what devilment the rebels are up 
to on the bank over there. They may be gittin’ 
up a flank movement over there, with pontoons and 
flatboats, to bust the whole army wide open.” 

“That’s so,” assented Si. “The orders are to ob- 
serve this crick, and we can’t do it if we can’t see 
the other bank. We ought to git over to that 
island.” 

They went back and reported to Capt. McGilli- 
cuddy, and told him what they thought. He at once 
agreed with them, and sanctioned their proposal to 
go over to the island, if they could And means of 
crossing. 

After a diligent search they came across an old 
canoe hollowed out of a tulip-tree log. It was a 
cranky affair, and likely to turn over if their hair 
was not parted exactly in the middle; but both of 
the boys were used to canoe management, and they 
decided to risk the thing. 


52 


SI KLEGG. 


It was ticklish business crossing the current, but 
they succeeded in reaching the island, which ex- 
tended a foot or more above the level of the flood, 
and was covered with a thicket of willows and cot- 
tonwoods about the size of hoe-handles. They 
pushed their way through these and came in sight 
of the opposite banks. There was apparently some- 
thing important going on over there. Quite a num- 
ber of rebels could be seen moving about through 
the rain and mud, there was a great deal of chop- 
ping going on, several flatboats, canoes and rafts 
were lying at the bank, wagons were passing, and 
the boys thought they could make out a cannon or 
two. 

“I can’t make out what in the world they’re up 
to,” said Si. “But I’m certain the Colonel ought to 
know it.. Suppose you take the canoe. Shorty, and 
paddle over and report, and I’ll stay here and 
watch.” 

“All right,” answered Shorty, starting back for 
the canoe. 

He reported to Capt. McGillicuddy, who took him 
up to the Colonel. 

“It don’t seem possible that they can be doing 
anything to threaten us,” said the Colonel ; “though 
they may know of some practicable crossing higher 
up the stream, which will let them in on our flank. 
Still, they ought to be watched. I’ll inform the Gen- 
eral at once. You had better station a picket on the 
island. Captain, if you can do so safely.” 

“Me and my pardner ’ll look out for them, Colonel, 
if you think necessary,” said Shorty, proud to be of 
service under the Colonel’s direction. 


FOURTH DAY OF THE CAMPAIGN. 


53 


“Very good,” said the Colonel briefly. “Fll en- 
trust the lookout to you boys. Let me know at once 
if anything important develops.” 

The young Aid had been standing nigh during 
this conversation. 

“Your men, Colonel,” he said patronizingly, “are 
excellent soldiers, in their way, but they lack the 
intelligence necessary to comprehend the movements 
of the enemy on the opposite bank. I think I shall 
go over there myself, take a personal observation, 
and determine precisely what the meaning of the 
movements may be.” 

“As you like,” said the Colonel stiffly. “As for 
myself, I donT think it is necessary for me to go. 
I’d trust those boys’ eyes as quick as I would my 
own. They are as good soldiers as ever breathed; 
they are as keen as a brier, with not a particle of 
nonsense about them. They are as truthful as the 
day. When they tell me anything that they have 
seen with their own eyes I can trust it as absolutely 
as if I had seen it myself; and their judgment can- 
not be beat.” 

“No enlisted man can possibly see anything so 
well as an officer who has been educated,” said the 
Aid. 

“That is a matter of opinion,” said the Colonel 
dryly. 

“Anyway, I’m going over to see for myself,” said 
the Aid. And he called after Shorty: 

“Here, my man, I’m going along with you.” 

Shorty muttered some very warm words under 
his breath, but discipline asserted itself, and he an- 
swered respectfully: 


54 


SI KLEGG. 


‘'Very good, sir.” 

He halted until the Aid came alongside, and then 
started to walk beside him as he would have done 
with one of his own officers when out alone with 
him. 

“Fall two paces behind,” commanded the Aid 
sternly 

Shorty said to himself some very hotly-disparag- 
ing things about pretentious young snips of Regu- 
lar officers. They reached the canoe, and the Lieu- 
tenant calmly seated himself in the stern. This was 
another aggravation. If Shorty had gone out with 
one of his own officers, even the Colonel, he would 
have shown a deep interest in everything and wanted 
to do his share toward getting the canoe safely 
over. This young fellow calmly seated himself, and 
threw all the responsibility and wprk on Shorty. 

“Now, you set right in the center, there,” said 
Shorty, as he picked up the paddle and loosened the 
rope, “and keep mighty still.” 

“My man,” said the Lieutenant, frowning, “when 
I want your advice I’ll ask it. It is for me to give 
you directions, not you me. You paddle out, now, 
and head straight for that island. Paddle briskly, 
and get me over there as quick as possible.” 

Shorty was tempted to tip the canoe over then 
and there, but he restrained himself, and bent his 
strong arms to the hard task of propelling the canoe 
across the strong current, avoiding the driftwood, 
maintaining his balance, and keeping the bow point- 
ed toward the place where he wanted to land. 

The Lieutenant had sense enough to sit very still, 
and as he naturally had been drilled into bolt-up- 


FOURTH DAY OF THE CAMPAIGN. 


55 


rightness, Shorty had little trouble with him until 
they were nearing the shore. Then the canoe ran 
into a swirl which threw its bow around. Forget- 
ting his dignified pose, the Lieutenant made a grab 
for some overhanging willows. 



'HERE GOES, MEBBE TO LIBBEY PRISON. 


‘‘Let them alone, blast you; I’ll bring her around 
all right,” Shorty started to yell, but too late. Be- 
fore the words were out of his mouth the cranky 
canoe went over. Shorty with the quickness of a 


56 


SI KLEGG. 


cat jumped clear, caught some branches with one 
hand, and made a grab for the canoe with the 
other. But he saw the Lieutenant go down head 
foremost, with fancy boots disappearing last. He 
let the canoe go, to make a grab for the boots. He 
missed them, but presently the Lieutenant’s head ap- 
peared, and he gasped and sputtered: 

“Save me, my good man. I can’t swim a stroke.” 

Shorty plunged out, succeeded in catching the 
Lieutenant by the collar, and after a vicious strug- 
gle with the current, grabbed with his right hand 
a pole that Si thrust out to him, while with his left 
he dragged the Lieutenant ashore, “ wetter ’n a 
blamed drowned West Point muskrat,” as he after- 
ward expressed it. 

“My good man, you saved my life, and I thank 
you for it,” said the Lieutenant when he recovered 
his breath. “I shall mention you in my report.” 

“If you don’t stop calling me your 'good man’ 
I’ll chuck you into the drink again, you wasp-waist- 
ed, stiff -backed, half-baked West Point brevet Sec- 
ond Lieutenant,” said Shorty wrathfully. “If you’d 
had the sense of a six-months’-old goslin’ you’d ’a’ 
set still, as I told you, and let me manage that 
canoe. But you never kin learn a West Pointer 
nothin’. He’d try to give God Almighty points if 
he got a chance. Now we’ve lost our canoe, and 
we’re in a devil of a fix. I feel like throwin’ you 
back in the crick.” 

“Take care, my good” and then the Lieuten- 

ant caught the glare of Shorty’s eye. “Take care, 
sir. You’re on the verge of mutiny. I may have 
you court-martialed and shot, if you’re not careful.” 


FOURTH DAY OF THE CAMPAIGN. 


57 


‘^Court-martial and be blamed,” said Si, who was 
as angry as Shorty. “You’ve lost our canoe, and 
we may be drowned before we can git off this island. 
It’s got so dark they can’t see us from the shore, 
the water’s steadily rising, these trees are too small 
to climb, and the Lord knows how we’re goin’ to git 
off.” 

“Corporal, I’ll see that you’re reduced to the ranks 
for disrespect to me. I had intended to recommend 
this man for promotion on account of his great serv- 
ice to the army in saving my life. Now I shall see 
that you are both punished for insubordination.” 

“Insubordination be damned, and you with it,” 
said Shorty. “You’d better be thinking how we’re 
to git off this island. The water’s bin raisin’ about 
a foot a minute. I’ve bin watchin’ while we wuz 
talkin’.” 

The Lieutenant stood, dazed, while the boys were 
canvassing plans for saving themselves. 

“I’ll tell you. Shorty,” said Si suddenly. “Le’s 
ketch one o’ them big saw-logs that’s cornin’ down, 
straddle it, and let it carry us somewhere. It may 
take us into our own lines. Anything’s better than , 
drowndin’. Here comes one in the eddy now.” 

Shorty caught the log with a long pole, and dex- 
terously steered it up close to the shore in com- 
paratively still water. Si threw a grapevine over it 
and held it. . 

“Now, all git on,” said Shorty. “Be careful not 
to push it away.” 

“Let me get on ahead,” said the Lieutenant, still 
mindful of his rank, “and you two get on behind, 
the Corporal next to me.” 


58 


SI KLEGG. 


“Not much, Mary Ann,” jeered Shorty. “We 
want a man of sense ahead, to steer. Fll git on 
first, then you, and then Si, to bring up the rear 
and manage the hind end of the log.” 

The Lieutenant had to comply. They all got safely 
on, and Shorty pushed off, saying: 

“Here, sit straight, both of you. Here goes — 
mebbe for New Orleans, mebbe for Libby Prison, 
mebbe for the camp of the 200th Ind. 

“We’re out on the ocean sailin’.” 


CHAPTER V. 


AFLOAT ON A LOG — SI, SHORTY AND THE WEST 
POINTER HAVE AN EVENTFUL JOURNEY. 

T he log swept out into the yellow swirl, bobbing 
up and down in the turbulent current. 
“Bobs like a buckin' broncho," said Shorty. 
“Make you seasick, Si?" 

“Not yet," answered his partner. “I ain’t so 
much afraid o’ that as I am that some big alligator- 
gar ’ll come along and take his dinner off my leg." 

“Bah," said Shorty, contemptuously ; “no alligator- 
gar is goin’ to come up into this mud-freshet. He’d 
ruther hunt dogs and nigger-babies further down the 
river. Likes ’em better. He ain’t goin’ to gnaw at 
them old Wabash sycamore legs o’ yourn when he 
kin git a bite at them fat shoats we saw sailin’ down 
stream awhile ago." 

“The belief in alligator-gar is a vulgar and absurd 
superstition," said the Lieutenant, breaking silence 
for the first time. “There isn’t anywhere in fresh 
water a fish capable of eating anything bigger than 
a bull-frog." 

“Hullo; did West Point learn you that?" said 
Shorty. “You know just about as much about it as 
you do about gittin’ over cricks an’ paddlin’ a canoe. 
Have you ever bin interduced to a Mississippi cat- 
fish? Have you ever seen an alligator-gar at home 
in the Lower Mississippi? Naw! You don’t know 


60 


SI KLEGG. 


no more about them than a baby does about a cata- 
mount. I have heard tell of an alligator-gar that 
was longer’n a fence-rail, and sort of king of a little 
bayou down in the Teche country. He got mad be- 
cause they run a little stern-wheel steamboat up 
into his alley to git their cotton off, an’ he made up 
his mind to stop it. He’d circle ’round the boat to 
git a good headway and pick out his man. Then 
he’d take a run-and-jump, leap clean across the boat, 
knock off the man he’d picked out, an’ tow him off 
under a log an’ eat him. He intended to take the 
Captain fust, but his appetite got the better of him. 
He saw a big, fat, juicy buck nigger of a deck-hand, 
an’ couldn’t stand the temptation. He fetched him 
easy. Next he took a nice, tender little cabin-boy. 
Then he fetched the big old Mate, but found him 
so full o’ terbacker, whisky and bad language that 
he couldn’t eat him nohow, an’ turned him over to 
the mudturtles, what’ll eat anything. The Captain 
then got scared an’ quit. He didn’t care a hate for 
the Mate, for he was glad to git rid of him ; but he 
liked the cabin-boy an’ he had to pay the owner o’ 
the nigger $1,200 for him, an’ that made runnin’ up 
the Teche onprofitable.” 

“Oh, Shorty,” Si gasped. He thought he was ac- 
quainted with his partner’s brilliant talents for ro- 
mance, but this was a meteoric flight that he had not 
expected. 

“But that wasn’t nothin’.” Shorty continued, “to 
a he catfish that a man told me about down near 
Helena, Ark. He used to swim around in a little 
chute near a house-cabin in which lived a man with 
a mighty good-lookin’ young wife. The man was 


AFLOAT ON A LOG. 


61 


awful jealous of his woman, an’ used to beat her. 
The ole he catfish had a fine eye for purty women, 
and used to cavort around near the cabin whenever 
his business would permit. The woman noticed him, 
and it tickled him greatly. She’d throw him hunks 
o’ bread, chunks o’ cold meat, and so on. The man’d 
come out and slap her, and fling clubs and knots at 
him. One day the man put his wife in a basswood 
canoe, and started to take her across the river. He 
hadn’t got a rod from the shore when the old he 
catfish ups and bites the canoe in two, then nips the 
man’s hand so’s he didn’t git over it for months, and 
then puts his nose under the woman’s arm, and helps 
her ashore as polite as you please.” 

“Shorty,” gasped Si, “if you tell any more such 
stories as that this log’ll certainly sink. See it how 
it wobbles now.” 

“I consider such stuff very discourteous to your 
officer,” said the Lieutenant stiffly. “I shall make a 
note of it for consideration at some future time.” 

“Halt! Who goes thar?” rang out sharply from 
the bank. 

“Hush ; don’t breathe,” said Shorty. They were in 
an eddy, which was sweeping them close to the rebel 
bank. 

“Who air yo’ haltin’ ?” said a second voice. 

“I see some men in a canoe out thar. I beared 
their voices fust,” said the first voice. 

“Whar’ yo see any men in a canoe?” asked the sec- 
ond incredulously. 

“Right over thar. You kin see ’em. They’re 
cornin’ right this-a-way. I’m a gwine t’ halt ’em 
agin an’ then shoot.” 


62 


SI KLEGG. 


'‘Stuff/’ said the other. “You’re allers seein’ shad- 
ders an’ ghostses. That ’er’s only an ole tree with 
three limbs stickin’ up. Don’t yo’ shoot an’ sheer the 
whole camp. They’ll have the grand laugh on yo’, 
an’ mebbe buck-an’-gag yo’.” 

“ ’Tain’t stuff,” persisted the other. “Thar never 
wuz a tree that ever growed that had three as big 
limbs as that all on one side. You’re moon blind.” 

“A man mout well be rain blind in sich a storm as 
this, but I tell yo’ that’s nothin’ but an ole sycamore 
drift log. If yo’ shoot the boys’ll never git tired o’ 
damnin’ yo’, an’ jest as likely as not the ossifers’ll 
make yo’ tote a rail through the mud ter-morrer.” 

The boys were so near that every word could be 
distinctly heard, and they were floating nearer every 
moment. 

The suspense was thrilling. If the man fired at 
that distance he could not help hitting one of them 
and discovering the others. They scarcely breathed, 
and certainly did not move a muscle, as the log 
floated steadily in-shore in the comparatively stiller 
waters of the eddy. The rain was coming down per- 
sistently yet, but with a sullen quietness, so that the 
silence was not broken by the splashing of the drops. 

A water-moccasin — deadliest of snakes — crawled 
up onto the log and coiled himself in front of Si, with 
that indifference to companionship which seems to 
possess all animals in flood-times. Si shuddered as 
he saw it, but did not dare make a motion against it. 

The dialog on the bank continued. 

“Thar, you kin see thar air men in a canoe,” said 
the first voice. 

“I can’t see nothin’ o’ the kind,” replied the other. 


AFLOAT ON A LOG. 


63 


“'If hit ain’t a log with three dead limbs, hit’s a 
piece o’ barn-timber with the j’ists a-stickin’ up.” 

'‘I don’t believe hit nary mite. Hit’s men, an’ I’m 
a-gwine t’ shoot.” 

‘‘No, yo’ hain’t gwine t’ make a durned fool o’ 
yourself. Wait a minute. Hit’s a-comin’ nigher, an’ 
soon you kin hit it with a rock. I’ll jest do hit t’ 
show yo how skeery yo’ air. Le’me look around an’ 
find a good rock t’ throw. If I kin find jest the right 
kind I kin hit a yallerhammer at that distance.” 

This prospect was hardly more reassuring than 
that of being fired at, but there was nothing to do 
but to take whatever might come. To make it more 
aggravating, the current had slowed down, until 
the motion of their log was very languid. They were 
about 100 feet from the shore when they heard the 
second voice say : 

“Heah, I’ve got jest the right kind o’ a dornick. 
Now jest keep yer eye peeled an’ fixed on that center 
limb, an’ yo’ll hear it chunk when I plunk hit an’ 
show hit’s nothin’ but a stick o’ wood. 

Si thought he saw the Lieutenant crouch a little, 
but was not sure. 

The stone came whistling through the air, struck 
the top of the Lieutenant’s cap and knocked it off 
into the water. 

“Thar,” said the second voice triumphantly; “yo’ 
see hit ain’t no men^ Jest as I done tole yo’. I 
knocked the bark offen the end o’ one o’ the sticks.” 

The log moved slowly on, and presently catching 
in a stronger current, swept out into the stream 
again. It seemed so like deliverance, that Si made 
a quick blow and knocked the snake off into the 


64 


SI KLEGG. 


w^ter, and Shorty could not help shouting trium- 
phantly : 

‘‘Good-by, Johnnies! Sorry we can’t stay with 
you longer. Got other engagements down the crick. 
Ta-ta ! See you later.” 

The chagrined sentry fired an angry shot, but they 
were already behind a clump of willows. 

“Lootenant,” said Shorty, “you put on a whole 
lot of unnecessary frills, but you’ve got good stuff 
in you after all. You went through that little affair 
like a man. I’ll back you after this.” 

“When I desire your opinion, sir, as to my con- 
duct,” replied the Lieutenant, “I shall ask you for it. 
Until then keep it to yourself. It is for me to speak 
of your conduct, not you of mine.” 

But again they ‘‘had hollered before they were out 
o’ the woods,” as Shorty afterward expressed it. The 
gunfire and the sound of their voices so near shore 
had stirred up the rebels. A canoe with three men 
in it had pushed out, and, struggling with the cur- 
rent, had made its way toward them, guided by their 
own voices. The top of a floating tree had hidden it 
from their sight until it suddenly came around the 
mass of leafage, and a man standing up in the bow 
leveling a revolver at them ordered instant surren- 
der. The other two men were sitting in the middle 
and stern with paddles, and having all they could 
do to maintain the course of the canoe. 

Si and Shorty were so startled that for an instant 
they made no response to the demand. The Lieuten- 
ant was the first to speak : 

“Are you a commissioned officer?” he inquired. 

“No,” was the answer. 


AFLOAT ON A LOG. 


65 


“Then I refuse to surrender. I’ll surrender to no 
one inferior to me in rank.” 

“Sorry we’uns can’t obleege yo’, nohow,” said the 
man with the revolver, in a sneer; “but we’uns’ll 
have t’ be good enough commissioned ossifers for yo’ 
jist now, an’ yo’ll have t’ done hold up yo’uns hands. 
We’uns hain’t no time t’ send ashore for a Looten- 
ant.” 

The other two chuckled as they struggled with the 
current, and forced the canoe up close to the log. 
Shorty made a motion as if throwing up his hands, 
and called out in a submissive way : 

“Here, le’me git hold o’ the bow, and I kin help 
you. It’s awful hard paddlin’ in this current.” 

Without thinking the men threw the bow in so 
close that Shorty could clutch it with his long hand. 
The grab shook the ticklish craft, so that the man 
with the revolver could scarcely keep his feet. 

“Heah,” he yelled at the other two. “Keep the 
dugout stiddy. What air yo’uns doin’? Hold her 
off, I tell yo’uns.” 

Then to the Lieutenant : 

“Heah, yo’uns surrender to wonst, or I’ll blow yo’ 
heads often yo’uns.” 

The Lieutenant started a further remonstrance, 
but Shorty had in the meantime got the other hand 
on the canoe, and he gave it such a wrench that the 
man with the pistol lost his footing and fell across 
the log, where he was grabbed by Shorty and his 
pistol-hand secured. The stern of the canoe had 
swung around until Si had been able to catch it with 
one hand, while with the other he grabbed the man 


66 


SI KLEGG. 


in the stern, who, seeing the sudden assumption of 
hostilities, had raised his paddle to strike. 

Si and Shorty had somewhat the advantage in 
position. By holding on to the log with their legs 
they had a comparatively firm base, while the canoe 
was a very ticklish foundation for a fight. 

The middle man also raised his paddle to strike, 
but the Lieutenant caught it and tried to wrest it 
away. This held the canoe and the log close together 
while Si and Shorty were struggling. Si saw this, 
and letting go, devoted both hands to this man, whom 
he pulled over into the water about the same time 
that Shorty possessed himself of the other man’s 
pistol and dragged him out of the canoe. 

“Hold fast in the center there. Lieutenant,” he 
called out, as he dropped the pistol into his bosom 
and took in the situation with a quick glance. “You 
two Johnnies hold on to the log like grim death to a 
dead nigger, and you won’t drown.” 

He carefully worked himself from the log into the 
canoe, and then Si did the same. They had come to 
a part where the water spread out in a broad and 
tolerably calm lake over the valley, but there was a 
gorge at the further end through which it was rush- 
ing with a roar. Log and canoe were drifting in that 
direction, and while the changes were being made 
the canoe drifted away from the log. 

“Hold on, men,” shouted the Lieutenant ; “you are 
certainly not going to abandon your officer?” 

“Certainly not,” said Shorty. “How could you im- 
agine such a thing? But just how to trade you off 
for this rebel passenger presents difficulties. If we 
try to throw him overboard we shall certainly tip 


AFLOAT ON A LOG. 


67 


the canoe over. And Fm afraid he's not the man to 
give up peaceably a dry seat in the canoe for your 
berth on the log." 

“I order you to come back here at once and take 
me in that boat," said the Lieutenant imperatively. 

“We are cornin' back all right," said Shorty; “but 
we're not goin' to let you tip this canoe over for 40 
Second Lieutenants. We'll git you out o' the scrape 
somehow. Don't fret." 

“Hello, thar! Help! Help!" came across the waters 
in agonized tones, which at the same time had some- 
thing familiar in them. 

“Hello, yourself!" responded Shorty, making out, 
a little distance away, a “jo-boat," — ^that is, a rude, 
clumsy square-bottomed, square-ended sort of a skiff 
— in which was one man. “What's wanted?" 

“I'm out here adrift without no oars," came in the 
now-distinctly recognizable voice of Jeff Hackberry. 
“Won’t yo' please tow me ashore?” 

“Le's go out there and git him," said Shorty to Si. 
“We kin put all these fellers in that jo-boat and save 
’em.” 

A few strokes of their paddles brought them 
alongside. 

“How in the world did you come here, Hackberry," 
asked Shorty. 

“0, that ole woman that I wanted so bad that I 
couldn't rest till I got her wuz red-hot t’ git rid o’ 
me,” whined Hackberry. “She tried half-a-dozen 
ways — puttin' wild parsnip in my likker, giving me 
pokeberry bitters, and so on, but nothin' fetched me. 
Finally she deviled me to carry her acrost the crick 
to the Confederit lines. I found this ole jo-boat at 


68 


SI KLEGG. 


last, an’ we got in. Suddently, quick as lightnin’, 
she picked up the oars, an’ give the boat a kick which 
sent hit away out into the current. I floated away, 
yellin’ at her, an’ she standin’ on the bank grinnin’ 
at me and cussin’. I’ve been havin’ the awfulest day 
floatin’ down the freshet, expectin’ every minute t’ 
be drowned, an’ both sides pluggin’ away at me 
whenever they ketched sight o’ me. I wuz willin’ t’ 
surrender t’ either one that’d save me from being 
drownded, but none of ’em seemed t’ care a durn 
about my drowndin’ ; they only wanted t’ plug me.” 

“Please save me. Mister,” begged Jeff, “an’ I’ll do 
anything under the shinin’ sun for yo’; I’ll jine the 
Yankee army; I’ll lead you’ to whar thar’s nests o’ 
the pizenest bushwhackers. I’ll do anything yo’ kin 
ax me. Only save me from being drownded. Right 
down thar’s the big falls, an’ if I go over them, 
nothin’ kin same me from drowndin’.” And he be- 
gan a doleful blubbering. 

“On general principles, I think that’d be the best 
thing that could happen,” remarked Shorty. “But I 
haven’t time to discuss that now. Will you do just 
what we want, if we save your life?” 

“Yes ; yes,” responded he eagerly. 

“Well, if you don’t, at the very minute I tell you. 
I’ll plug you for certain with this,” said Shorty, 
showing the revolver. “Mind, I’ll not speak twice. 
I’ll give you no warnin’. You do what I tell you on 
the jump, or I’ll be worse to you than Mrs. Bolster. 
First place, take this man in with you. And you (to 
the rebel in the canoe) mind how you git into that 
boat. Don’t you dare, on your life, kick the canoe 
over as you crawl out. If I find it rocks the least 


AFLOAT ON A LOG. 


69 


bit as you leave I’ll bust your cocoanut as the last act 
of my military career. Now crawl out.” 

The rebel crawled over the gunwale into the boat 
as cautiously as if there were torpedoes under him. 

“Now,” said Shorty, with a sigh of relief, as the 
man was at last out of the canoe, “we’ll paddle 
around here and pick up some pieces of boards for 
you to use as oars. Then you bring the boat over to 
that log.” 

This was done, and the Lieutenant and the two 
rebels clinging to the log were transferred to the 
jo-boat. The moment the Lieutenant felt himself in 
the comparative security of the jo-boat his desire for 
command asserted itself. 

“Now, men,” said he, authoritatively, “pull away 
for the other side, pointing up stream. That glow 
over there is our campfires. Make for it.” 

“All right, Lootenant,” said Shorty. “You com- 
mand that boat. You’ve got your revolver with you, 
and kin make ’em mind. We’ll pick up some more 
boards, so as to have oars for all o’ ’em. They’d bet- 
ter use ’em lively, for it ain’t a great ways t’ the 
suck. If you git into that you’ll go to Davy Jones’s 
as sure as the Lord made little apples. Paddle, now, 
if you value your lives. Me and Si are goin’ back to 
look for that galoot that shot at us. We want to 
make a present of him to our Colonel, who’s after in- 
formation from the other side. We want his gun 
and another one to make up for the two that we had 
to leave on the island. We’ll join you before you git 
acrost.” 

The Lieutenant lifted up his voice in remonstrance 
against the desperate undertaking, but Si and Shorty 


70 


SI KLEGG. 


paddled swiftly away, leaving him and his squad to 
struggle over the muddy lake in their clumsy bateau. 

Though the boys were sadly worn by the day's ex- 
citing adventures, yet they were animated by the 
hope of doing something that would signally retrieve 
their earlier misfortunes. Both were adepts at ca- 
noe navigation, the canoe was light and easily man- 
aged with but two in it, and they had gotten the lay 
of the shore so well in mind that they felt sure that 
they could slip around and come in on the man who 
had fired upon them. The drizzle of the rain helped 
curtain them; they pushed the canoe through the 
top of a paw-paw thicket that rose but a little way 
above the flood. Shorty sprang out, and in a few 
steps came up behind the two pickets, who were 
crouching over a little fire they had built behind the 
cover of some dense weeds. 

“Was this the post that fired on men in a canoe a 
little while ago?" he asked, as if a rebel officer out 
on a tour of investigation. 

“Yes," the men stammered, as soon as they could 
recover from the startle of his sudden appearance. 

“Which man fired ?" asked Shorty. 

“Me," answered one. 

“Well, I want you and both your guns," said 
Shorty, thrusting his revolver against the man’s 
face. “Pick up them guns and go right ahead there." 

The man meekly did as bid, and in a few minutes 
was landed into the canoe, into which Shorty jumped 
and pushed off. When nearly across they came upon 
the jo-boat, with the Lieutenant standing erect with 
drawn revolver, while the men were laboring hard 


AFLOAT ON A LOG. 


71 


to propel it to shore. The boys fastened its painter 
to the stern of the canoe and helped by towing. 

They headed for a large fire burning brightly on 
the bank, indicating that it was the headquarters of 
the pickets. In response to the sharp challenge, the 
Lieutenant responded : 

“Friends, without the countersign.’’ 

Quite a number of officers and men thronged to the 
water’s edge to see what could be coming from that 
unexpected quarter. The Lieutenant ordered the 
boys to fall to the rear with their canoe, that he 
might be the first to land, and as his bateau labored 
close to the shore he recognized the Colonel in com- 
mand of the picket line, and said in a loud voice : 

“Sir, I have the honor to report that I have been 
across the creek reconnoitering the enemy’s lines. I 
have with me five prisoners — four soldiers and one 
guerrilla.” 


CHAPTER VI. 


DISTRESSING ENEMIES OTHER THAN THE REBELS, AND 
RAIN, MUD, AND SWOLLEN STREAMS. 

S I WOKE up early the next morning with a 
savage exclamation. 

‘T declare, Fm all on fire,” he said. Some- 
thing’s just eating me up. I believe I’ve got a mil- 
lion graybacks on me.” 

“Same here. Si,” said Shorty. “Never knowed 
’em to be so bad. Seem to ’ve just got in from a 
march, and are chawin’ three days’ rations out o’ me 
every minute. I’d ’a’ thought they’d all ’ve bin 
drowned from the duckin’ they’ve bin havin’ for the 
past five days, but it only seems to ’ve sharpened 
their teeth and whetted their appetites. They’ve 
all come to dinner, and invited their friends.” 

“Where in the world could they have all come 
from?” meditated Si. “We wuz certainly clean of 
’em when we started out six days ago.” 

“0, the rebels skipped out in sich a hurry,” ex- 
plained Shorty, “that they even dropped their house- 
hold pets, which we inherited as we follered ’em up. 
I wish this infernal rain’d let up long enough for 
us to do some skirmishin’ and bile our clothes. Or 
if the sun’d only come out an hour or two, we 
could find an ant-hill, an’ lay our clothes on it. I 
don’t know any little thing that I enjoy more on a 
pleasant day when we’ve bin a long march and got 


DISTRESSING ENEMIES. 


73 


mighty 'crumby/ than to pull off my shirt and lay 
it on a lively ant-hill, and light my pipe and set 
there and watch the busy ants collar its inhabitants 
and carry ’em off to fill up their smoke-houses with 
Winter meat.” 

He put his hand meditatively into his bosom as 
he spoke. As he withdrew it he looked down and 
exclaimed : 

"Jehosephat, it’s fleas, too. Just look there. I’m 
alive with fleas.” 

"Same here,” ejaculated Si, who had made a sim- 
ilar discovery. "Just look at ’em, hoppin’ out every- 
where. The rebels have not only set their grayback 
infantry on to us, but are jumping us with their 
flea cavalry.” ^ 

"If you call the graybacks infantry and the fleas 
cavalry, what in the world do you call these. Si?” 
said Shorty, who had made still another discovery, 
and was pointing to his wrists and ankles, where 
rows of gorged ticks, looking like drops of fresh 
blood, encircled his limbs. 

"Them’s heavy artillery,” answered Si; "and, 
Great Scott, I’ve got more of ’em on me than you 
have. And there’s some just back of your ears, 
Shorty. Be careful. Shorty. Don’t touch ’em. Le’ 
me work ’em off. Be awful careful. If you break 
their heads off they’ll stay in and make a sore that’ll 
almost never get well.” 

They looked down the lines of men who, like 
themselves, had been rudely awakened from their 
slumber on wet beds by "the pestilence that walk- 
eth by night.” There were howls, yells, oaths and 
imprecations from everybody. Officers forgot their 


74 


SI KLEGG. 


carefully-maintained dignity, and were as vociferous 
and profane as the men. 

Many were stripped, and trying to singe their wet 
clothes over the smoldering fires. Many were even 
trying to subdue the pests by thrashing their gar- 
ments in the cold water of the creek. 

‘‘ ’Bout as much use as a General Order from 
Army Headquarters would be agin the varmints,” 
said Shorty, as he watched their futile labors. “Say, 
you fellers,” he called out to them; “why don’t you 
repeat the Ten Commandments to ’em ? Or sing the 
doxology? It’ll do just as much good as sloshing 
your duds around in the water. The water only 
makes ’em savager’n ever. You ought to know that 
from experience.” 

By the happy thought of gently touching the 
gorged wood-ticks with the point of a pin Si and 
Shorty had gotten rid of those plagues, heads and 
all, so as to leave no apprehension as to future sores. 
They communicated this method to their afflicted 
comrades, and then turned their attention to the 
other parasites. 

“I guess I’ll just go down to the Surgeon’s tent 
and git a pound of angwintum,” said Shorty, “and 
rub myself from head to foot with it. That’s the 
only thing I know of that’ll do the least good.” 

“Mustn’t do that,” objected Si. “Put angwintum 
on you and get wet, and you’ll be salivated. You 
ought to know that.” 

“I don’t care,” said Shorty desperately. “I’d 
rather be salivated till my teeth drop out and my 
hair falls off than be carried off in large chunks by 
fleas and graybacks. Come along.” 


DISTRESSING ENEMIES. 


75 


“Mebbe the Surgeon has something else that’ll 
pizen these little cusses,” said Si, falling in with his 
comrade. 

They found a clamorous group around the Sur- 
geon’s tent, asking for ^‘angwintum (mercurial 
ointment) or anything else that would alleviate their 
torments. The worried Surgeon was scratching 
himself as he explained to the Colonel : 

“It seems to me. Colonel, that the rising water 
has concentrated all these parasites on the higher 
ground over which we have come. This is the only 
way in which I can account for their severe visita- 
tion upon us. The parasites seem to have the same 
instinct to gather on elevated spots when the water 
is rising that other animals have, and we have con- 
sequently gathered up four or five times as many, to 
say the least, as we should otherwise have gotten. 
But you don’t know the worst of it yet. You see 
those men? They have sore feet. But it isn’t ordi- 
nary sore feet. They’ve got chiggers in their feet.” 

“Chiggers. What are they?” asked the Colonel. 

“Chiggers, jiggers, chigoes — pulex penetrans,” 
answered the Surgeon. “They are a grea.t pest in 
the tropics, where the people go barefooted and do 
not take any care of their feet. This is the first 
time that I have ever heard of them being so far 
north. But there is no doubt about their being, 
chiggers. They burrow in under the skin, and cause 
a great deal of suffering. Some of the men’s hands 
and fingers are also affected by them. They are 
terrible things to deal with when tliey once get the 
start. If this thing goes on, not a man in the regi- 
ment will be able to walk a step.” 


76 


SI KLEGG. 


‘'What can be done?'' gasped the Colonel, gripping 
for a flea in his bosom. 

“Nothing," answered the Surgeon, smashing an 
insect on the back of his hand, “except to issue a 
stringent order that the men must take special care 
of their feet and hands." 

“Humph," said the Colonel, scornfully, as he 
caught a bug on his wrist ; “much sense in an order 
of that kind, when the men have to wade through 
mud and water 18 hours out of 24, and then sleep 
in it the other six. Is that the best you can sug- 
gest? Is that all your conscience has to offer? Re- 
member that you are responsible for the efficiency 
of the men on this great campaign, upon which 
the safety of the country depends. It will be a se- 
vere reflection upon you if you allow them to be 
broken down by a few insects." , 

“Great Pharaoh and Moses," responded the Sur- 
geon irritably, as he grabbed for “a bite" on his 
throat. “Here we are, confronted with a condi- 
tion of things like the curses which God Almighty 
sent against the Egyptians, and you expect me to 
manage it with quinine and epsom salts. It can’t 
be done,* Colonel.” 

“Isn't there anything that you can suggest or 
recommend that will mitigate this trouble?” said 
the Colonel in a more conciliatory manner, for he 
had just succeeded in crushing a tormentor. “Cer- 
tainly, there must be something in your pharma- 
copeia which will at least retard these infernal 
vermin from eating my men alive. Can't you at 
least check them a little until we can get through 
the campaign? Then the men can be trusted to 


DISTRESSING ENEMIES. 


77 


take care of themselves.” And the Colonel made a 
swoop for a particularly vicious flea which was ban- 
queting on the lobe of his ear. 

never set up as a sharp on parasites,” said 



^^I^M ALL ON FIRE.'' 


the Surgeon, running down a ‘'small deer” inside 
his collar; but I remember to have read that an 
application of tobacco- juice is about as effective a 
preventive of insect bites as can be found.” 

“That'll do ; that’ll do,” said Shorty triumphantly. 


78 


SI KLEGG. 


as he and Si started back to their places to act at 
once on the Surgeon's suggestion. “Just the thing. 
Tobacker'll kill ’em deader than small-beer. Why 
didn’t I think about it before?” 

Shorty had some strong black plug tobacco. He 
cut. this up into small pieces, while Si found an old 
tin can, into which they were put, and then the can 
filled up with boiling water. 

“Let’s make her good and strong. Si,” said Shorty, 
putting in some more tobacco; “for the fellers are 
sock-dolagers, and it will take a horse dose to kill ’em. 
They’ll just enjoy a little taste o’ terbacker. Make 
it strong enough to bear up an aig. Now, let’s git 
our clothes off while it’s coolin’ down. You drench 
me, and I’ll drench you, and we’ll salivate these galli- 
nippers in a way that’ll surprise ’em.” 

The surprise seemed to be 'mostly on the other 
side. Shorty’s skin was raw from head to foot from 
the depredations of the various tribes of “epizoa,” 
as the physicians generalize them. He gave a yell 
that could be heard through the whole regiment as 
the acrid, biting tobacco-juice struck a thousand 
little punctures in his skin inside of a second. 
Everybody rushed up to see what was the matter, 
and stood around, laughing and commenting, while 
scratching and slapping at their own colonies of tor- 
mentors. Then Shorty began the most vehement 
stream of profanity, and showered maledictions on 
everjrthing in the State of Tennessee, which was only 
a breeding place for fleas, woodticks, jiggers, gray- 
backs, niggers, rebels, traitors, bushwhackers, 
guerrillas, thieves, robbers and*murderers, and other 
spawn of Jeff Davisism. Presently he grew vio- 


DISTRESSING ENEMIES. 


79 


lently sick at the stomach, turned deathly white, and 
fainted. Frightened, Si rushed for the Surgeon. 

“Only tobacco poisoning,” said the latter, after 
he had looked Shorty over carefully. “You made 
that solution too strong, and the lot of little punc- 
tures took it directly into his circulation. You 
might have killed him if you had made it stronger, 
or got more of it on him. I never saw such rapscal- 
lions as you boys are. You are always trying to 
kill yourselves or one another, in spite of all that 
I can do or tell you. A man that's Surgeon of this 
regiment has to earn his money, I tell you. He will 
come out all right pretty soon, only he will be very 
weak, ril send you down some whisky to give him.” 

“Real old rye, Doctor?” said Shorty, very faintly, 
and opening his eyes feebly. “None of your Com- 
missary stuif. This is a powerful bad case, and I 
need the best.” 

“You shall have it,” laughed the Surgeon. “I 
know you. You are all right when you are all right. 
But you won't be able to march with the column 
to-day. I'll give you an excuse from duty. And 
you (to Si) had better stay with him. I'll speak to 
your Captain.” 

The bugles were sounding the “assembly” every- 
where, and the men, slapping and scratching as if 
they would tear their flesh and their clothes off, 
were hastily swallowing their las£ mouthfuls of hot 
coffee and bread and pork, snatching up their guns 
and blankets and falling in. 

“Shelby ville is only six miles away,” said the 
Orderly-Sergeant as he lined up Co. Q, and clawed 
around his clothes at his persecutors. “There'll be 


80 


SI KLEGG. 


a circus to-day, and no postponement on account o’ 
the weather. It’ll either be the gol-darnedest fight 
that the 200th Injianny Volunteers ever got into or 
the cussedest foot-race that ever wuz run. Here, 
Biles, consarn you, leave that fire and your munch- 
ing, and fall in. You’re like a cow’s tail — always 
behind.” 

Shorty made a violent effort to rise up and join 
the company, but he was manifestly too weak. Si 
was in sore distress. He didn’t want to leave him, 
but he was anxious to be with his company. 

“Corporal Klegg,” said the Captain, coming down 
the line, and giving a frequent furtive scratch at 
himself, “Shorty can’t possibly go with us to-day. 
I’m awfully sorry, but there is no use talking about 
it. You must stay behind and take care of him, 
and take care of these sore-footed men who will be 
unable to keep up. The Colonel orders you to com- 
mand the whole outfit. You keep them together, 
keep up as well as you can, and if you see any 
place that you can be useful, go in. I know and 
the Colonel knows that you can be trusted to do that.” 

This made Si more reconciled to being left be- 
hind, and he mentally resolved that, though he 
might not be with his beloved regiment, he would 
manage to do his full share in the impending battle 
for Shelbyville. 

The “Second Lieutenant and Aid-de-Camp” came 
up. It was noticed in the distance that he was suf- 
fering from the same causes as the others, but as 
soon as he came into the immediate presence of 
the men his official dignity asserted itself, he re- 
frained from nervous pursuit of his verminiferous 


DISTRESSING ENEMIES. 


81 


assailants, and walking stiffly up to the Colonel, 
saluted, and said: 

“Colonel, I came to report the conduct of a couple 
of your men who came under my command night 
before last, and who, while doing very well in some 
respects, were so grossly disrespectful to me that 
they should be given a sharp lesson. Unless this 
is done, it will tend to impair discipline and dimin- 
ish the respect which men should show officers.” 

The Colonel looked straight at the young officer, 
and noticed an unusually large insect emerge fr.om 
his collar and walk deliberately up his neck onto 
his cheek. It must have been intensely annoying, 
but dignity triumphed, and the Lieutenant stood 
stiffly as a ramrod. 

“Fm very sorry to hear that any of my men 
should seem wanting in respect to their officers,” 
said the Colonel quietly, as he “attended to” a wicked 
flea which was breakfasting off his wrist. “I can 
hardly believe it. I have the most obedient and re- 
spectful men in the whole army. I’m afraid you did 
something that pro voiced, if it did not justify, dis- 
respectful conduct.” 

The Lieutenant would have been different from 
the rest of the army if he had not been very short 
of temper that morning. The pangs that he was 
compelled to endure without the relief of scratch- 
ing made him still more irritable, and he forgot him- 
self sufficiently to answer: 

“I beg your pardon, sir, but you are in error 
when you represent your men to be respectful and 
subordinate. On the contrary, they are the most 
lacking in that of any men in the army. I am con- 

4 


82 


SI KLEGG. 


stantly yelled at by them as I pass, and they say 
very insulting things to me. I'm determined to 
put a stop to it, and I want you to begin with those 
two men. If you don't I shall make a strong report 
on the subject to the General, which may lead to 
your being placed under arrest." 

‘‘Young man," said the Colonel severely, as he 
calmly exterminated another one of his tormentors, 
“you are so infested with vermin that I can see 
them crawling out from your clothes. It is an in- 
sult to me to have you appear before me in such a 
condition. Get out of here at once, and never ap- 
proach me again in such a condition, or I shall be 
compelled to deal with you as you deserve." 

The Lieutenant marched away, holding himself 
more stiffly than ever, and the Colonel walked to- 
ward the other flank of the regiment, looking so 
cross that no one dared give the laugh he was burst- 
ing with until he had mounted his horse and shout- 
ed the command, “Forward!" 

The rain actually ceased, and the sun came out for 
the first time in 10 long days; from miles to the 
right and left came sounds of infantry and artillery 
firing, gradually swelling in volume. Under these 
exciting influences, aided, perhaps, by a really fine 
article of whisky, which the Surgeon had left. Shorty 
rapidly recovered, picked up his gun, threw his 
blanket-roll over his shoulders, and announced his 
eagerness to move forward. The sore-footed men 
began to feel that their feet were not really as sore 
as they had thought, and they also hobbled forward. 
The road by which they had camped led straight 
to Shelbyville, and they felt that by following it 


DISTRESSING ENEMIES. 


83 


they would have the best chance of getting into the 
fight. The road was filled with cavalry, and Si and 
his squad worked their way through the woods to 
the right to get up nearer the front and find an in- 
fantry line. 

“What in the world are they doin’ with all these 
cavalry here?” said Shorty fretfully. “They can’t 
do nothin’ agin the mud forts and big guns and 
miles o’ breastworks and abatis and felled timber 
that the rebels ’ve bin puttin’ out in front of Shel- 
byville for the last six months. Horses are only 
in the way for sich work. They must ’ve put the 
cavalry back here to be safe, while the infantry 
does the work. We’ll git in ahead o’ the 'critter-com- 
panies’ somewhere and find the dough-boys.” 

At last they came out on a hill which commanded 
a view of the Country, and halted, with an exclama- 
tion of delight at the magnificant sight spread out 
before hem. The sun was now half-way up in the 
sky, and shining with a brightness which seemed 
divine after the long period of drenching showers. 
Its light was reflected in brilliance from thousands 
of sabers and accounterments and the waving of 
flags of the cavalry divisions which filled the coun- 
try as far as the eye could reach. Ascending the 
slope at the farther side of the valley was a skir- 
mish-line, two miles long, of dismounted cavalry- 
men, from which rose wreathes of smoke as it 
pressed steadily forward up the hill against the 
rebels ensconced there. In the green fields on 
either side of the road, and in the road itself, were 
regiments and brigades of horsemen, massed up 
solidly, impatiently waiting for the progress of the 


84 


SI KLEGG. 


skirmishers to bring about the moment when they 
could be hurled against the enemy in a mighty ava- 
lanche of war. Bugles were sounding, flags flying, 
and all was intense, high-wrought, exciting anima- 
tion. 

The boys gave a cheer of exultation at the sight. 
Suddenly two little regiments separated themselves 
from the rest, drew sabers, and, with bugles sound- 
ing the charge and the men yelling, rode straight 
at the infantry and the batteries defending the crest 
of the hill. The rebels broke before the cavalry 
could reach them, and began a wild flight, with in- 
fantry, cavalry and artillery mixed in wild con- 
fusion, and our horsemen swooping down on them, 
capturing horses, men and cannon. 

On everybody swept until the crest was gained 
which commanded a view of Shelbyville and its fa- 
mous intrenchments. From these cannon thundered 
out, and long lines of infantry could be seen hurry- 
ing into the works to repel the audacious horsemen. 
Si and Shorty held their breaths, for it seemed 
that nothing but destruction awaited the cavalry in 
those awfully-planned defenses. But the cavalry 
thundered on with a headlong speed. Artillery gal- 
loped up on our side, to answer that in the works, 
and the boys lost speech in amazement at seeing the 
horsemen tear through the wide abatis and jump the 
high breastworks, while the defenders streamed 
back in rout into Shelbyville, pursued every step 
with yell and blow by the furious cavalry. Then 
came the noise of terrible fighting in the streets of 
Shelbyville. Jo Wheeler was massing every cannon 
that could be brought up to him in a desperate effort 


DISTRESSING ENEMIES. 


85 


to hold the town, at least, until Forrest could come to 
his help, or he could make an orderly retreat across 
Duck River. But, bitterly as he fought, the Union 
troopers fought still more savagely. They simply 
would not allow the thought of successful resistance, 
and wave after wave of fierce charges followed so 
rapidly that Wheeler’s men broke and fled for safety 
into and across the river. 

The boys yelled themselves hoarse as they saw 
the stream of rebel fugitives pour across the river 
and seek safety in the country beyond. 

'‘Well, Shelbyville is ours at last, after all this 
waiting and marching and manuvering,” said Si, in 
a tone of intense exultation. “And the cavalry took 
it. Wish it had been the 200th Injianny Volunteers. 
I’ve always looked down on the cavalry, but I won’t 
do so any more. I wish the 200th Injianny was 
mounted. My gracious, wasn’t it grand the way 
those fellers just galloped over everything in sight — 
breastworks, forts, batteries, felled timber, and 
lines of infantry.” 

“Yes,” assented Shorty. “I wouldn’t ’ve missed 
the sight for the best farm in the Wabash bottoms. 
It was worth marching 10 days in the mud and 
rain to see.” 

“Here, Corporal,” said a Cavalry Lieutenant, rid- 
ing up, “I want you to take charge of these prisoners 
with your squad, so we can go back and get some 
more. The woods are full of them. I’ll make out 
a receipt for you to sign. I think there’s just 100 
of them. Count them over for yourself.” 

“Sure,” said Si, springing forward. 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE EXCITING ADVANCE — TULLAHOMA, THE GREAT 
BATTLE THAT DID NOT COME OFF. 

DON’T yo’uns crow too much over gittin’ 
Shelby ville,” the prisoners said to Si. 

^ “Yo’uns couldn’t never ’ve got hit in 
the world if Jinerul Bragg hadn’t a’wanted yo’uns 
to.” 

''0, come off,” said Shorty. “You tried your best 
to keep us from gittin’ in. 'You put up a very pretty 
little fight, but our cavalry jest rode over you.” 

“Thar wuz nobody thar but Jo Wheeler and his 
critter company,” persisted the prisoners, “and 
they’d font for anything. They’d font yo’uns for a 
chaw of terbacker, and then gin the chaw back. Ole 
Bragg wuz jist a-foolin’ with yo’uns. He wuz 
drawin’ yo’uns on. He made up his mind that Shel- 
byville wuzn’t the best place for a font, and he’d lay 
for yo’uns at Tullyhomy. He’s got his whole army 
together down thar, and he’ll wollop yo’uns till your 
hides won’t hold shucks. Ole Bragg’s smarter’n ary 
Yankee that ever lived, and he’s fixed up a dead-fall 
for yo’uns at Tullyhomy that’ll mash yo’uns flatter’n 
a pancack.” 

“Let him go ahead with his mashin’ fiat,” answered 
Shorty; “we’re some on the mash ourselves, as you 
fellers found out at Stone River.” 

“We’uns ’d ’a’ welted the life outen yo’uns at Stone 


THE EXCITING ADVANCE. 


87 


River, if we’uns 'd had jest a few more men; ez hit 
wuz we’uns run yo’uns all over them ’ere old cotton- 
fields fur two days, tuk all yo’uns’s cannon, an’ 
more’n a million prisoners. Fust night I done 
thought we’uns ’d tuk the whole Yankee army. 
We’uns done got tired pickin’ up prisoners in them 
ceders an’ sink-holes, an’ concluded t’ leave the rest 
thar fur seed. We’uns jest f’arly wore ourselves out 
lickin’ yo’uns, an’ then yo’uns got a whole passel ’o 
fresh men, an’ we’uns jest pulled back t’ Shelby ville 
t’ rest, spit on we’uns’ hands an’ take a fresh holt.” 

‘'How about the last day,” inquired Si, “over the 
river on the left, when we tore you all to flinders 
with artillery, and run you back over the hill and 
took your guns?” 

“0, that wuz Breckinridge’s Division,” said the 
prisoners, negligently, as if dismissing a matter of 
little consequence. “They’uns desarved all they’uns 
got. They’uns wus sent for t’ come over and help 
we’uns lick yo’uns the fust two days, but they’uns 
wouldn’t come. I’m jest glad they’uns kotched hit 
good an’ hard ez they’uns done got hit. But we’uns 
’s now got heaps more men than we’uns had at Stone 
River, an’ they’re all together over thar by Tully- 
homy. Lordy, you jest orter seed ’em az I did. I 
wuz on the top of a mounting on gyard, whar I could 
see for a hundred miles in every direction, an’ I seed 
men marchin’ toward Tullyhomy till my eyes ached 
a-lookin’ at ’em. Yo’uns ’ll stir up a mouty sight 
wuss hornets’ nest at Tullyhomy than yo’uns did at 
Murfreesboro. 

“Well, we’ll knock seven kinds o’ brimstone out o’ 
your hornets’ nest, big as it may be,” answered 


88 


SI KLEGG. 


Shorty. ‘‘The more o’ you there is the better, for 
we kin finish up the job then, and be done with it, 
instid o’ havin’ to run you down an’ knock you on 
the head one at a time. We’ve more men, too, than 
we had at Stone River. There was enough of us 
before, but Old Abe just gethered up the men in 
three or four new States, and sent ’em down to us 
to help make a clean, quick job of it. All we want 
of you fellers is jest to stand up and give us a square 
fight. We’re no grayhounds, to run you fellers down. 
We came down here to fight, not to trot races with 
you. 

“Well, yo’uns’ll git yer bellyful o’ foiitin’ over by 
Tullyhomy,” shouted back the prisoners as they were 
marched away under guap:*d. 

“It certainly does look like we’re to have a bigger 
scrimmage than we had at Stone River,” said Si, as 
he and Shorty were once more alone. “Our army is 
much larger, and it’s all been gathered right around 
here. There’s bin great rivers of men pouring 
through all these gaps for days, and we’ve talked 
with fellers from every division and brigade in the 
army. There’s entirely too many men around here 
for the country to hold. Something’s got to bust 
soon, and when it does bust there’ll be an explosion 
like that you read about.” 

“Well, let her bust,” answered Shorty. “The 
sooner the better. I want to see it right off. It’s got 
to come before the war kin end, and for my part I 
don’t want to march a step further to find it. They 
can’t nohow git up a worse time than we had at 
Stone River, and we managed to live through that; 
so that I guess we kin pull through another. If we 


THE EXCITING ADVANCE. 


89 


don’t, this ’s just as good a place to go to Heaven 
from as we kin find, and we’ll save a whole lot o’ 
worry by finishin’ up now.” 

‘"Well,” said Si, “let’s git back to the regiment as 
soon’s possible. The battle may begin at any min- 
ute, and we musn’t be away. We’d never forgive 
ourselves as long’s we’d live if we wasn’t with the 
boys when they line up under the colors for the 
great tussle.” 

“Getting to the regiment” was tedious and hard. 
Shorty was still very weak from his tobacco experi- 
ment, and Si had worked almost to exhaustion in 
helping his sore-footed squad along. These were as 
eager to get back to the regiment in time for the 
fight, and Si had not the heart to leave any one of 
them behind. The roads were filled with teams be- 
ing pushed forward with ammunition and rations, 
and every road and path crowded with men hurrying 
to the “front.” They were on the distant fiank of 
their corps when they started out in the. morning, 
and did not succeed in reaching the rear of their 
own division until nightfall. Though worn out by 
the day’s painful tramping and winding around 
through the baffling paths between regiments, bri- 
gades and divisions, sometimes halting and some- 
times moving off suddenly and unexpectedly, they 
nerved themselves for one more effort to reach the 
200th Ind. before they lay down for the night. But 
the night was far harder than the day. The whole 
country was full of campfires, around which were 
men cooking their supper, standing in groups, pipe 
in mouth, anxiously discussing the coming moment- 
ous battle, and the part their regiments would likely 


90 


SI KLEGG. 


• 

play in it, or sitting writing what they felt might be 
their last letters home. All were unutterably tired, 
and all earnestly thoughtful over the impending con- 
flict. None felt ordinarily jovial, communicative and 
sympathetic with foot-sore stragglers trying to find 
their regiments. Even when they were, the move- 
ments and changes during the day had been so 
bewildering that their best-intentioned directions 
were more likely to be wrong than right. 

“The 200th Ind.,’’ they wpuld say; “yes, we saw 
the 200th Ind. about the middle of the afternoon, 
right over there on that hillside, where you see that 
old tree blazing up. They were acting as if they 
were going into camp, and I expect that's their 
campfires you see there." 

Si, Shorty and the rest would make their weary 
way to the point indicated, about a half-mile distant, 
only to find that their regiment had been sighted at 
another point a mile away in a different direction. 

The morning of July 1, 1863, was almost ready to 
break when they at last came up with their regiment, 
and flung themselves down on the ground in abso- 
lute exhaustion. Wornout as they were, their sol- 
dierly ears could not be deaf to the stirring reveille 
which quickly followed the early daybreak of that 
Summer morning, and summoned the regiment for 
the final, decisive move upon the rebel stronghold 
of Tullahoma. 

Though every bone and muscle seemed to cry out 
against it. Si, Shorty and their companions rose up 
promptly and joined the regiment. 

Everybody seemed sobered by the nearness of the 
terrible battle. Nobody laughed, , nobody swore, no- 


THE EXCITING ADVANCE. 


91 


body joked, nobody played the usual light-hearted 
reveille tricks. The Orderly-Sergeant did not call 
the roll with his usual glibness and rasp. He seemed 
to linger a little over each name, as if thinking 



SI AND SHORTY WERE THE FIRST TO MOUNT THE 
PARAPET. 

whether it would be answered to again, or he be 
there to call it. The officers gave the commands 
quietly, even gently. The men executed promptly, 
carefully, and silently, as one sees things done at a 


92 


SI KLEGG. 


funeral or in church. A hasty breakfast was eaten 
in silence; the men fell into ranks again, and there 
was a low buzz as the cartridge-boxes were carefully 
inspected and each man supplied with his full quota 
of ammunition. 

The Colonel mounted his horse, and gave the 
order, “Forward — march,'' so quietly that only the 
leading company heard it. It moved promptly, and 
the others followed. 

The same strange soberness ruled the other regi- 
ments they passed on their way to take the advance. 
There was for once no quip or jest from the men 
standing by the roadside, leaning thoughtfully on 
their muskets, and awaiting their turn to march. 
They merely watched them file by, with steady, grave 
eyes and an occasional calm' nod or quiet greeting 
to an acquaintance. 

The hurrah, the swagger, the noisy effervescence 
of a few months ago had disappeared from men who 
had learned to know what battle was. 

The dripping clouds cleared away as the 200th 
Ind. drew out into the muddy road, and let the sun 
suddenly beam forth in full Midsummer power. In 
an instant everybody was reeking with perspiration, 
panting for breath, and scorching inwardly and out- 
wardly. 

It was too much for some who had bravely main- 
tained their places thus far, and they had to sink 
by the roadside. 

Every minute of the first hour it seemed to Si and 
Shorty that they could not go a rod farther, but at 
the end of every rod they made an effort to go an- 
other, and succeeded. The sun momentarily grew 


THE EXCITING ADVANCE. 


93 


more burning, but also it seemed that every step 
brought them nearer the enemy, and the thought 
nerved them up to further exertion. Occasional rip- 
pling shots from watching parties of the rebel cav- 
alry helped stimulate them. 

Noon passed. They were so near the works of 
Tullahoma that the collision might come at any min- 
ute — could not be postponed many minutes. The 
regiments left the road and went into line-of-battle, 
stretching a long wave of blue through the deep 
green of the thick forests. How far it reached no 
one could tell. Occasional glimpses obtained through 
the openings in the woods showed miles of length. 

Everything was deeply quiet, except occasional 
startling crashes from rebel outposts and the dis- 
tant booming of cannon on the left. 

The 200th Ind. was advancing through a heavy 
growth of jack-oaks. 

Lines of rebel skirmishers had occasionally ap- 
peared in front of the regiment, fired a few shots, 
and then disappeared. The ease with which they 
were driven gave the impression that they were try- 
ing to lead the regiment into ambush, and it moved 
slowly and very watchfully. 

At last, as the hot sun was beginning to sink in 
the far west, the regiment came to the edge of the 
young jack-oaks, and saw before it a sight which 
thrilled every heart. 

There, a little distance away, lay the formidable 
works guarding Tullahoma. To the right and left, 
as far as the eye could reach, stretched a bristling 
line of abatis hundreds of yards wide and seemingly 
hopelessly impassable. It was made of the young 


94 


SI KLEGG. 


jack-oaks felled outwards and their limbs sharp- 
ened till they were like thorns. 

Frowning behind this fearsome barrier were high- 
rising forts mounted with cannon, and connected 
with long, sinuous breastworks. A deep ditch filled 
with muddy water ran along the foot of the works. 

Squads of rebels could be seen running back to 
the shelter of the fortifications. Every man in the 
regiment gave a quick, involuntary gasp as he saw 
his work before him. 

The whole of the long line was halted and carefully 
dressed by the officers; still speaking as softly and 
kindly as if arranging a funeral procession, and the 
men stepping into places promptly, and with a ten- 
der solemnity of manner. There, was none of the 
customary rude jostling and impatient sharpness. 
It was : 

“You’ll have to give away to the left a little, John ; 
I haven’t room.” 

“Come out there, boys, on the right. You’re too 
far back.” 

“Jim, you’d better fall in behind. I don’t believe 
you’re strong enough to keep up.” 

Even the brash young “Second Lieutenant and 
Aid-de-Camp” seemed impressed with the intense 
gravity of the moment. He came up to the Colonel, 
and seeing he was on foot, respectfully dismounted, 
saluted, and said, without a vestige of his usual 
pertness: 

“Colonel, the General presents his compliments, 
and says that the battery is badly stuck in the mud 
a little ways back. As we shall need it very much, 


THE EXCITING ADVANCE. 


95 


he directs that you send a company to bring it up at 
once.’' 

'‘Very good, sir,” said the Colonel, gravely return- 
ing his salute, and speaking as gently as at a tea- 
table. “It shall be done. Capt. McGillicuddy, take 
your company back and bring up the battery.” 

“Attention, Co. Q,” suggested rather than com- 
manded Capt. McGillicuddy. “Stack arms. Cor- 
poral Klegg, you and your squad remain where you 
are. You are too tired to do any good. “Right face; 
file left; forward — march.” 

The Colonel mounted his horse, rode down to the 
center of the regiment, and said, in a tone hardly 
raised above the conversational, but which made 
itself distinctly heard by every man: 

“Fix — bayonets.” 

There was an ominous crash of steel as the bright 
bayonets swept to their places. 

“Men,” continued the Colonel as quietly as if talk- 
ing to a Sunday school, “we’re going to take those 
works with the bayonet. Keep perfectly quiet ; 
reserve your breath for quick, hard work, and pay 
close attention to orders. We’ll move in quick time 
to the edge of that slashing of timber; every man 
make his way through it as best he can, keeping as 
near his Captain as possible. As soon as through it 
he will run with all his might for the works, fire his 
gun into the rebels as he jumps the works, and then 
rely on his bayonet. No man must fire a shot until 
we are crossing the works, and then I want every 
shot to fetch a rebel.” 

He waited a moment before giving the command 
to advance, for Co. Q, which had snaked the battery 


96 


SI KLEGG. 


out of the mudhole in a hurry, was coming on a dead 
run in order to be on time for the charge. It snatched 
its guns from the stacks, and lined up like a long 
flash of blue light. 

The artillerymen had lashed their jaded horses 
into a feverish run, swept out into an open space, 
flung their guns '‘into battery,” and opened with a 
vicious bang on the rebel works. 

So far not a head appeared above the breastworks ; 
not a shot from the embrasures in the forts. 

“They’re just laying low,” whispered Si to Shorty, 
as they instinctively brought their shoulders together 
and summoned their energies for the swift advance. 
“They’ll blaze out like the fires o’ hell just as we 
git tangled up in that infernal timber-slashin’.” 

“Well,” muttered Shorty, “we’ll know mighty soon 
now. In five minutes we’ll either be in Heaven or 
bayoneting the rebels in that fort.” 

“Battalion, forward — march!” commanded the 
Colonel. 

The regiments to the right and left got the com- 
mand at the same instant, and the long wave of blue 
rolled forward without a break or fault in its per- 
fect alignment. 

A hundred yards were quickly passed, and still the 
rebel works were as silent as a country churchyard. 
The suspense was fearful. Men bent their heads 
as if in momentary expectation of being struck by 
a fearful blast. 

Another hundred yards. Still no bullet from the 
rifle-pits, no canister from the forts. 

Another hundred yards, and they had struck the 


THE EXCITING ADVANCE. 


97 


entangling abatis, and were feverishly working 
their clothes loose from the sharp-pointed limbs. 

Capt. McGillicuddy,” excitedly shouted Si, 
there’s no men in them works. Didn’t you see that 
flock o’ blackbirds just settle down on that fort?” 

“That’s true,” said the Captain, after a quick 
glance. Colonel, they’ve evacuated.” 

A little to the left of the company Si saw a path 
through the abatis made by the rebels taking short 
cuts in and out of the camp. He and shorty quickly 
broke their way to it, and ran in feverish haste to 
the works. They found a puncheon laid to cross the 
ditch, ran over it, and mounted the rifle-pit. There 
was not a man inside of the works. The last of the 
garrison could be seen on the other side of Elk 
River, setting Are to the bridge by which they had 
just crossed. 

Utterly exhausted by fatigue and the severe men- 
tal strain. Si and Shorty could do nothing more than 
give a delighted yell, fire their guns at the distant 
rebels, when they sank down in complete collapse. 

Almost at the same time the same discovery had 
been made at other points in the long line moving 
to the assault; the inside of the works were quickly 
filled with a mob of rushing men, who seemed to lift 
the clouds with their triumphant yells. 

The campaign for Tullahoma was at an end. 
Bragg had declined battle, and put the whole of 
his army out of reach of pursuit behind the swollen 
waters of Elk River. 

That night by its cheerful campfires the exultant 
Army of the Cumberland sang from one end of its 
long line to the other, with thousands of voices join- 


98 


SI KLEGG. 


ing at once in the chorus, its song of praise to Gen. 
Rosecrans, which went to the air of '‘A Little More 
Cider.’^ 

Cheer up, cheer up, the night is past. 

The skies with light are glowing. 

Our ships move proudly on, my boys. 

And favoring gales are blowing. 

Her flag is at the peak, my boys. 

To meet the traitorous faction. 

We’ll hasten to our several posts. 

And immediately prepare for action. 

Chorus. 

Old Rosey is our man. 

Old Rosey is our man. 

We’ll show our deeds where’er he leads. 

Old Rosey is our man. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


THE GLORIOUS FOURTH — INDEPENDENCE DAY FUN 

ON THE BANKS OF ELK RIVER. 

\ 

HIS is the glorious Fourth of July/' re- 
marked Si, as Co. Q broke ranks from 
reveille roll-call on the banks of Elk 
River, and he and Shorty turned anxious attention 
to the problem of getting a satisfactory breakfast 
out of the scanty materials at their command. “Up 
home they're gittin' ready for a great time. Yes- 
terday mother and the girls cooked enough goodies 
to feed the whole company. Mother had Abe Lin- 
coln split up a lot o' fine, dry hickory. Then she het 
up the big brick oven out by the Summer-kitchen, 
and she baked there a lot o' loaves o' her splendifer- 
ous salt-raisin' bread, the best in the whole country, 

if I do say it myself" 

“Resemble this. Si ?" asked Shorty, who was paw- 
ing around in his shrunken haversack, as he pro- 
duced two dingy crackers and a handful of pieces, 
discolored by contact with the coffee and meat dur- 
ing the days of marching in the rain. 

“And, then," continued Si, unmindful of the inter- 
ruption, “after she took the bread out, smelling like 
a bouquet, she put in some biscuits, and then some 

dressed chicken, a young pig" 

“Just like this," echoed Shorty, pulling out a 
rusty remnant of very fat commissary pork. 


100 


SI KLEGG. 


“Shet up, Shorty,” said Si, angered at this re- 
minder of their meager store, which was all that 
was left them for the day, since they had far out- 
marched their wagons. “I won’t have you makin’ 
fun o’ my mother’s cookin’.” 

“Well, you shut up torturing me about home 
goodies,” answered Shorty, “when we hain’t got 
enough grub here to fill one undivided quarter-sec- 
tion o’ one o’ our gizzards, and there hain’t no more 
this side o’ the wagons, which are stalled somewhere 
in the Duck River hills, and won’t be up till the 
katydids sing. I ain’t making fun o’ your mother’s 
cookin’. But I won’t have you tormenting me with 
gas about the goodies back home.” 

“I know it ain’t right. Shorty,” said Si. “It only 
makes us feel worse. But I can’t help thinkin’ ” 

“Jest go on thinkin’,” sneered Shorty, “if you kin 
fill yourself up that way. I can’t. You’d better 
set to studyin’ how to make less’n quarter rations 
for one fill up two men for all day. There ain’t no 
use goin’ a-foragin’. They call this country the Cum- 
berland Barrens. There never was grub enough in 
it to half support the clay-eaters that live around 
here, and what there was the rebels have carried 
off. The only thing I kin think of is to cut up some 
basswood chips and fry with this pork. Mebbe we 
could make ’em soft enough to fill up on.” And 
Shorty gloomily shook out the last crumb from the 
haversacks into a tin of water to soak, while he 
fried the grease out of the fragment of pork in his 
half-canteen. 

“And Pap,” continued Si, as if determined to ban- 
ish famine thoughts by more agreeable ones, “has 


THE GLORIOUS FOURTH. 


101 


had the trottin’ team nicely curried, and their 
manes and tails brushed out, and hitched ’em to that 
new Studebaker spring wagon he wrote about. 
They’ll put all the good things in, and then mother 
and the girls’ll climb in. They’ll go down the road 
in great style, and pick up Annabel, and drive over 
to the Grove, where they’ll meet all the neighbors, 
and talk about their boys in the army, and the Posey 
Brass Band’ll play patriotic tunes, and old Beach 
Jamieson’ll fire off the anvil, and then Parson 
Ricketts’ll put on his glasses and read the Declara- 
tion o’ Independence, and then some politician young 
lawyer from Mt. Vernon or Posey ville ’ll make k 
sky-soaring, spread-eagle speech, and” 

“0„do come off. Si,” said Shorty irritably. “You’re 
only making yourself hungrier exercising your 
tongue so. Come here and git your share o’ the 
breakfast — and mind you eat fair.” 

Shorty had fried out the pork in the dingy, black 
half-canteen, poured the soaked crackers into the 
sputtering hot grease, and given the mess a little 
further warming and stirring. Then he pulled the 
half-canteen from the split stick which served for 
a handle, set it on the ground, and drew a line 
through it with his spoon to divide the food fairly 
into equal portions. 

Meanwhile Si had strolled over a little ways to 
where an old worm fence had stood when the regi- 
ment went into camp. Now only the chunks at the 
corners remained. He looked a minute, and then 
gave a yell of delight. 

“Here, Shorty,” he called out; “here’s something 
that beats your fried breakfasts all holler. Here’s 


102 


SI KLEGG. 


ripe blackberries till you can't rest, and the biggest, 
finest ones you ever saw. Come over here, and you 
can pick all you can eat in five minutes." 

He began picking and eating with the greatest 
industry. Shorty walked over and followed his 
example. 

“They are certainly the finest blackberries I ever 
saw," he agreed. “Strange that we didn't notice 
them before. This country ain't no good for nothin' 
else, but it surely kin beat the world on black- 
berries. Hi, there! Git out, you infernal brute!" 

' This latter remark was , addressed to a long-legged, 
-mangy hound that had suddenly appeared from no- 
where, and was nosing around their breakfast with 
appreciative sniffs. Shorty made a dive for him, but 
he cleaned out the half-canteen at one comprehen- 
sive gulp, and had put a good-sized farm between 
him and the fire before Shorty reached it. That 
gentleman fairly danced with rage, and swore worse 
than a teamster, but the breakfast was gone beyond 
recovery. The other boys yelled at and gibed him, 
but they were careful to do it at a safe distance. 

“ 'Twasn't much of a breakfast, after all. Shorty," 
said Si, consolingly. “The crackers was moldly and 
the pork full o' maggots, and the Surgeon has warned 
us time and again against eatin' them greasy fried 
messes. All the doctore say that blackberries is very 
healthy, and they certainly taste nice." 

Shorty's paroxysm of rage expended itself, and 
he decided it wisest to accept Si's advice. 

“The berries is certainly fine. Si," he said with 
returning good humor. “If I could've only laid a 
foundation of crackers and meat I could've built a 


THE GLORIOUS FOURTH. 


103 


very good breakfast out of ’em. I misdoubt, though, 
whether they’ve got enough substance and stick-to- 
the-ribs to make a meal out of all by themselves. 
However, I’ll fill up on ’em, and hope they’ll last 
till a grub-cart gets through. There ought to be one 
here before noon.” 

“One consolation,” said Si; “we won’t have to 
march on this peck. The Adjutant’s just passed 
the word that we’re to rest here a day or two.” 

The rest of the regiment were similarly engaged 
in browsing oif the blackberries that grew in won- 
derful profusion all around, and were really of 
extraordinary size. After filling themselves as full 
as possible of the fruit. Si and Shorty secured a 
couple of camp kettles and gave their garments a 
boiling that partially revenged themselves upon the 
insect life of Tennessee for the torments they en- 
dured in the Tullahoma campaign. 

“The better the day the better the deed,” re- 
marked Shorty, as he and Si stood around the fire, 
clothed in nothing but their soldierly character, and 
satisfiedly poked their clothes down in the scalding 
water. “Thousands must die that one may be free — 
from graybacks, fleas, and ticks. How could be 
better celebrated the Fourth of July than by the 
wholesale slaughter of the tyrants who drain the 
life-blood of freemen and patriots?- Now, that’s a 
sentiment that would be fine for your orator who is 
making a speech about this time to your folks in 
Injianny.” 

By this time they were hungry again. The black- 
berries had no staying power in proportion to their 
filling qualities, and anxiously as they watched the 


104 


SI KLEGG. 


western horizon, no feet of the mules bringing ra- 
tions had been seen beautiful on the mountains. 

They went out and filled up again on blackberries, 
but these seemed to have lost something of their de- 
licious taste of those eaten earlier in the morning. 

They went back, wrung out their clothes, and put 
them on again. 

“They’ll fit better if they dry on us,” remarked 
Shorty. “And Fm afraid we’ll warp, splinter and 
check if we are exposed to this sun any longer after 
all the soakin’ \ye’ve bin havin’ for the past 10 
days.” 

Comfortably full abdominally, with a delicious 
sense of relief from the fiendish insects, the sun 
shining once more brightly in the sky, and elated 
over the brilliant success of the campaign, they felt 
as happy as it often comes to men. 

The scenery was inspiring. Beyond Elk River 
the romantic Cumberland Mountains raised their 
picturesque peaks and frowning cliffs into a wond- 
rous cloud-world, where the radiant sunshine and 
the pearly showers seemed in endless struggle for 
dominion, with the bright rainbows for war-banners. 
When the sunshine prevailed, filmy white clouds — 
flags of truce — floated lazily from peak to peak, and 
draped themselves about the rugged rocks. It was 
an ever-changing panorama of beauty and mystery, 
gazing on which the eye never wearied. 

“Bragg’s somewhere behind them mountains. 
Shorty,” said Si, as the two lay on the ground, 
smoked, and looked with charmed eyes on the sky- 
line. “The next job’s to go in there and find him 
and lick him.” 


THE GLORIOUS FOURTH. 


105 


‘‘I don’t care a durn, if it’s only dry weather,” 
answered Shorty. '‘I kin stand anything but rain. 
I’d like to soldier awhile in the Sahara Desert for 
a change^ Hello, what’t that? A fight?” 

A gun had boomed out loudly. The boys pricked 
up their ears, took their pipes from their mouths and 
half raised in anticipation of- the bugle-call. An- 
other shot followed after an interval, and then a 
third and fourth. 

“They’re firing a National salute at Division 
Headquarters in honor of the Fourth of July,” ex- 
plained the Orderly-Sergeant. 

Everybody jumped to his feet and cheered — 

Cheered for the Fourth of July; 

Cheered for the United States of America; 

Cheered for President Abraham Lincoln; 

Cheered for Maj.-Gen. Wm. S. Rosecrans. 

Cheered for the Army of the Cumberland ; 

Cheered for the Corps Commander; 

Cheered for the Division Commander; 

Cheered for the Brigadier-General; 

Cheered for the Colonel of the 200th Ind. ; 

Cheered for their Royal Selves. 

“Whew, how hungry that makes me,” said Short: 
as the cheering and the firing ended, and he studied 
the western horizon anxiously. “And not a sign 
yit of any mule-team cornin’ up from the rear. They 
must have religious scruples agin travelin’ on the 
Fourth o’ July. Well, I s’pose there’s nothin’ to do 
but hunt up some more blackberries. But black- 
berries is like mush. They don’t seem to stay with 
you much longer’n you’re eatin’ ’em.” 

But they had to go much farther now to find black- 


106 


SI KLEGG. 


berries. The whole hungry regiment had been hunt- 
ing blackberries all day, and for more than a mile 
around camp the briers were bare. Si and Shorty 
succeeded at last in finding another plentiful patch, 
upon which they filled up, and returned to camp for 
another smoke and an impatient look for the Com- 
missary teams. 

‘T like blackberries as well as any other man,” 
mused Shorty, “but it don’t seem to me that last 
lot was nearly so good as the first we had this 
morning. Mebbe the birds kin eat ’em four times 
a day and seven days in the week without gittin’ 
tired, but I ain’t much of a bird, myself. I’d like 
to change off just now to about six big crackers, 
a pound o’ fat pork and a quart o’ coffee. Wonder 
if the rebel cavalry could’ve got around in our rear 
and jumped our trains? No; 'Joe Wheeler’s critter 
company,’ as that rebel called ’em, hain’t quit runnin’ 
yit from the lickin’ Minty give ’em at Shelbyville. 
Mebbe the mules have struck. I’d ’a’ struck years 
ago if I’d bin a mule.” 

The sun began to sink toward the western hills, 
and still no welcome sign of coming wagons. 

Si remarked despairingly: 

“Well, after all the berry-eatin’ I’ve done to-day 
I feel as holler as a bee-gum. I don’t believe any 
wagons’ll git up to-night, and if we’re goin’ to have 
any supper at all we’d better go out and pick it be- 
fore it gits too dark to see.” 

They had to go a long distance out this time to 
find a good berry patch. It was getting dark be- 
fore they fairly began picking their supper. Pres- 
ently they heard voices approaching from the other 


THE GLORIOUS FOURTH. 


107 


side. They crouched down a little behind the brier- 
clumps and listened. 

'‘Be keerful. The Yankee pickets must be nigh. 
Thar’s their campfires.” 



“Pshaw. Them fires is two miles away. Thar’s 
no pickets fur a mile yit. Go ahead.” 

“No sich thing. Them fires ain’t a mile off. 


108 


SI KLEGG. 


Their pickets are likely right along that ’ere ridge 
thar.” 

“Bushwhackers,” whispered Si, rising a little to 
reconnoiter. “One, two, three, four, five, six on 
’em. Sneakin’ up to pick off our pickets. What’d 
we better do?” 

“Only thing I kin think of,” whispered Shorty 
back, feeling around for a stick that would repre- 
sent a gun, “is the old trick of ordering ’em to 
surrender. It’s an awful bluff, but we may work it 
this time. If they’ve got any grit we needn’t worry 
no more about rations. They’ll git us.” 

Si snatched up a piece of rail, and they sprang up 
together, shouting: 

“Halt! Surrender! Don’t move a hand or we’ll 
blow your heads off.” 

“All right, Yank. We surrender. Don’t shoot. 
We’uns ’ve bin a-huntin’ yo’uns to gin ourselves up. 
We’uns is tired o’ the wah.” 

“The thunder you do,” said Si in amazement. 

“Yes,” said the leader, walking forward; “we’uns 
is plumb sick o’ the wah, and want t’ take the oath 
and go home. ’Deed we’uns do.” 

“Well, you liked to ’ve scared two fine young sol- 
diers to death,” murmured Si under his breath. 

“Halt, there,” called out the suspicious Shorty. 
“Don’t come any nearer, or I’ll fire. Stand still, 
and hold your guns over your heads, till I send a 
man out to git ’em.” 

The rebels obediently held their guns in the air. 

“Sergeant,” commanded Shorty, “go forward and 
relieve the men of their arms, while the rest of us 


THE GLORIOUS FOURTH. 


109 


keep ’em kivvered to prevent treachery and gittin’ 
the drop on us.” 

Si went out and took the guns, one by one, from 
the hands of the men, and made as good an examina- 
tion as he could, hastily, to see that they carried 
nothing else. 

'‘Lordy, Yank, if you only knowed how powerful 
glad we’uns is to git to yo’uns, you wouldn’t ’spicion 
us. We’uns ’s nigh on to starved t’ death. Hain’t 
had nothin’ to eat but blackberries for days. And 
hit’s bin march, march, all the time, right away from 
we’uns’s homes. Goramighty only knows whar ole 
Bragg’s a-gwine tuh. Mebbe t’ Cuby. We’uns wuz 
willin’ t’ font fur ole Tennessee, but for nary other 
State. When he started out o’ Tennessee we’uns jest 
concluded t’ strike out and leave him. Lordy, 
Mister, hain’t you got something t’ eat? We’uns 
is jest starvin’ t’ death. ’Deed we’uns is.” 

‘'Awful sorry,” replied Shorty, as he and Si gath- 
ered up the guns and placed themselves behind the 
group. “But we hain’t nothin’ to eat ourselves but 
blackberries, and won’t have till our wagons git up, 
which ’ll be the Lord and Gen. Rosecrans only 
knows when. You shall have it when we kin git 
it. Hello, the boys are cheerin’. That means a 
wagon’s got in. Skip out, now, at a quarter-hoss 
gait. They may gobble it all up before we git there.” 

Inspired by this, they all started for camp in 
quick-time. Shorty was right in interpreting the 
cheering to mean the arrival of a ration-wagon. 

When they reached Co. Q they found the Orderly- 
Sergeant standing over a half-box of crackers. 


110 


SI KLEGG. 


Around him was gathered the company in a petulant 
state of mind. 

“Cuss and swear, boys, all you've a mind to," he 
was saying, “if you think that'll swell your grub. 
You know it won't. Only one wagon's come up, and 
it had only a half-load. Our share in it is what 
you see here. I figure that there's just about one 
cracker apiece for you, and as I call your names 
you'll step up and get it. Don't swear at me. I've 
done the best' I could. Cuss the Tennessee mud and 
freshets in the cricks all you want to, if you think 
that'll fill your crops, but let me alone, or I'll bust 
somebody." 

“I've my opinion o' the glorious Fourth o' July," 
said Shorty, as he nibbled moodily at his solitary 
cracker. “I'll change my politics and vote for 
Thanksgiving Day and Christmas after this." 

“Well, I think that we've had a pretty fine 
Fourth," said the more cheerful Si. “For once in 
my life I've had all the blackberries I could eat, and 
otherwise it's a pleasant day. Them deserters gave 
me a cold chill at first, but I'm glad we got 'em. 
There'll certainly be more wagons up to-night, and 
to-morrow we'll have all we kin eat." 

And that night, for the first in 10 days, they slept 
under dry blankets. 


CHAPTER IX. 


A LITTLE EPISODE OVER LOVE LETTERS. 

H OW exuberantly bright, restful, and happy 
were those long July days on the foothills of 
the Cumberland Mountains, after the fa- 
tigues and hardships, the endless rains, the fathom- 
less mud, the angry, swollen streams, the exhaust- 
ing marches, and the feverish anxieties of the Tul- 
lahoma campaign. 

The insolent, threatening enemy had retreated far 
across the mountain barrier. For the while he was 
out of reach of striking or being struck. The long- 
delayed commissary-wagons had come up, and there 
was an abundance to eat. The weather was delight- 
ful, the forests green, shady and inviting, the scen- 
ery picturesque and inspiring, and every day brought 
news of glorious Union victories, over which the 
cannon boomed in joyful salutes and the men cheered 
themselves hoarse. Grant had taken Vicksburg, with 
25,000 prisoners, and chased Joe Johnston out of 
sight and knowledge. Prentiss had bloodily re- 
pulsed Sterling Price at Helena. Banks had cap- 
tured Port Hudson, with 6,000 prisoners. The Mis- 
sissippi River at last ‘‘flowed unvexed to the sea.'' 
Meade had won a great victory at Gettysburg, and 
Lee's beaten army was in rapid retreat to Virginia. 

“The blasted old Southern Confederacy is cer- 
tainly havin' its underpinnin' knocked out, its j'ints 


112 


SI KLEGG. 


cracked, jand its roof caved in,” remarked Si, as the 
two boys lay under the kindly shade of a low-grow- 
ing jackoak, lazily smoked their pipes, and gazed 
contentedly out over the far-spreading camps, in 
which no man was doing anything more laborious 
than gathering a little wood to boil his evening coffee 
with. “ Tain^t fit to store brick-bats in now. By- 
and-by we’ll go out and hunt up old Bragg and give 
him a good punch, and the whole crazy shebang ’ll 
come down with a crash.” 

“I only wish old Bragg wasn’t of sich a retirin’ 
nature,” lazily commented Shorty. “The shade o’ 
this tree is good enough for me. I don’t want to ever 
leave it. Why couldn’t he’ve waited for me, and we 
could’ve had it out here, coolly and pleasantly, and 
settled which was the best man! The thing’d bin 
over, and each feller could’ve gone about his busi- 
ness.” 

Both relapsed into silence as each fell into day 
dreams — the one about a buxom, rosy-cheeked little 
maiden in the Valley of the Wabash ; the other of one 
in far-off Wisconsin, whom he had never seen, but 
whom he mentally endowed with all the virtues and 
charms that his warmest imagination could invest 
a woman. Neither could see a woman without think- 
ing how inferior she was in looks, words or acts to 
those whose images they carried in their hearts, and 
she was sure to suffer greatly by the comparison. 

Such is the divinely transforming quality of love. 

Each of tne boys had taken the first opportunity, 
after getting enough to eat, a shelter prepared, and 
his clothes in shape and a tolerable rest, to write a 
long letter to the object of his affections. Shorty’s 


A LITTLE EPISODE OVER LOVE LETTERS. 113 

letter was not long on paper, but in the time it took 
him to write it. He felt that he was making some 
progress with the fair maid of Bad Ax, and this 
made him the more deeply anxious that no misstep 
should thwart the progress of love’s young dream. 

Letter-writing presented ’unusual difficulties to 
Shorty. His training in the noble art of penmanship 
had stopped short long before his sinewy fingers had 
acquired much knack at forming the letters. Spell- 
ing and he had a permanent disagreement early in 
life, and he was scarcely on speaking terms with 
grammar. He had never any trouble conveying his 
thoughts by means of speech. People had very lit- 
tle difficulty in understanding what he meant when 
he talked, but this was quite different from getting 
his thoughts down in plain black and white for the 
reading of a strange young woman whom he was 
desperately anxious to please, and desperately afraid 
of offending. He labored over many sheets of paper 
before he got a letter that seemed only fairly satis- 
factory. One he had rejected because of a big blot 
on it; second, because he thought he had expressed 
himself too strongly; a third, because of an erasure 
and unseemly correction; a fourth, because of some 
newborn suspicions about the grammar and spelling, 
and so on. He thought, after he had carefully gath- 
ered up all his failures and burned them, together 
with a number of envelopes he had wrecked in his 
labor to direct one to Miss Lucinda Briggs, Bad 
Ax, Wis., sufficiently neatly to satisfy his fastidious 
taste. 

He carefully folded his letter, creasing it with a 
very stalwart thumb-nail, sealed it, gave it a long 

6 


114 


SI KLEGG. 


inspection, as he thought how much it was carrying, 
and how far, and took it up to the Chaplain's tent 
to be mailed. 

Later in the afternoon a hilarious group was gath- 
ered under a large cottonwood. It was made up of 
teamsters. Quartermaster’s men, and other bobtail 
of the camp, with the officers’ servants forming the 
dark fringe of an outer circle. Groundhog was the 
presiding spirit. By means best known to himself 
he had become possessed of a jug of Commissary 
whisky, and was dispensing it to his auditors in 
guarded drams to highten their appreciation of his 
wit and humor. He had come across one of the 
nearly-completed letters which Shorty had thrown 
aside and failed to find when he burned the rest. 
Groundhog was now reading this aloud, accompanied 
by running comments, to the great amusement of his 
auditors, who felt that, drinking his whisky, and 
expecting more, they were bound to laugh uproari- 
ously at anything he said was funny. 

“Shorty, that lanky, two-fisted chump of Co. Q, 
who thinks hisself a bigger man than Gineral Rose- 
crans,” Groundhog explained, “has writ a letter to a 
gal away off somewhere up North. How in the king- 
dom he ever come to git acquainted with her or any 
respectable woman ’s more’n I kin tell. But he’s got 
cheek enough for anything. It’s sartin, though, that 
she’s never saw him, and don’t know nothin’ about 
him, or she’d never let him write to her. Of course, 
he’s as ignorant as a mule. He skeercely got beyant 
pot-hooks when he wuz tryin’ to larn writin’, an’ he 
spells like a man with a wooden leg. Look here: 


A LITTLE EPISODE OVER LOVE LETTERS. 115 


‘Mi Dere Frend.' Now, everybody knows that the 
way to spell dear is d-e-e-r. Then he goes on : 

“ ‘I taik mi pen in hand to inform u that Ime well, 
tho IVe lost about 15 pounds, and hoap that u air 
in joyin’ the same blessin’.’ 

“Think o’ the vulgarity o’ a man writin’ to a young 
lady ’bout his losin’ flesh. If a man should write 
sich a thing to my sister I’d hunt him up and wollop 
the life outen him. Then he goes on : 

“ ‘I aint built to spare much meat, and the loss of 
15 pounds leaves fallow lots in mi cloze. But He 
grow it all back on me agin mitey quick, as soon as 
we kin hav another protracted meetin’ with the Com- 
missary Department.’ 

“Did you ever hear sich vulgarity?” Groundhog 
groaned. “Now hear him brag and use langwidge 
unfit for any lady to see : 

“ ‘We’ve jest went throo the gosh-almightiest cam- 
pane that enny army ever done. It wuz rane and 
mud 48 ours outen the 24, with thunder and litenin’ 
on the side. We got wettern Faro’s hosts done 
chasin’ the Jews throo 50 foot of Red See. But we 
diddent stop for that till we’d hussled old Bragg 
outen his works, and started him on the keen jump 
for Chattynoogy, to put the Cumberland Mountings 
betwixt us and him.’ 

“Think o’ the conceit o’ the feller. Wants to make 
that gal believe that he.druv off Bragg a’most sin- 
gle-handed, and intends to foller him up and kick 
him some more. Sich gall. Sich fellers hurts us in 
the opinion o’ the people at home. They make ’em 
think we’re all a set o’ blowhards. But this aint 
nothin’ to what comes next. He tries to honeyfugle 


116 


SI KLEGG. 


the gal, and he’s as clumsy ’bout it as a brown b’ar 
robbin’ a bee-hive. Listen : 

“ 'mi dere trend, I can’t tell you how happy yore 
letters maik me. I’ve got so I look for the male a 
good dele more angshioussly than for the grub 
wagon.’ 

“Think o’ a man sayin’ grub to a lady,” said 
Groundhog, in a tone of deep disgust. “Awful 
coarse. A gentleman allers says 'peck,’ or 'hash,’ or 
'vittels,’ when he’s speakin’ to a lady, or before 
ladies. I licked a man onct for sayin’ 'gizzard-linin’ 
before my mother, and gizzard-linin’ aint half as 
coarse as grub. But he gits softer’n mush as he 
goes on. Listen : 

“ 'I rede every wun of ’em over till they’re cleane 
wore out, and then I save the pieces, bekaze they 
cum from u. I rede them whenever Ime alone, and it 
seems to me that its yeres before another one comes. 
If I cood make anybody feel as good by ritin’ to ’em 
as u kin me Ide rite ’em every day.’ 

“Thar’s some more of his ignorant spellin’,” said 
Groundhog. “Everybody but a blamed fool knows 
the way to spell write is w-r-i-g-h-t. I learnt that 
much before I wuz knee-high to a grasshopper. But 
let me continner: 

“ 'I think Bad Ax, Wisconsin, must be the nicest 
plais in the world, bekaze u live there. I woodent 
want to live anywhair else, and Ime cummin up thar 
just as soon as the war is over to settle. I think of 
u every our in the day, and’ 

“He thinks of her every hour. The idee,” said 
Groundhog, with deep scorn, “that sich a galoot as 


A LITTLE EPISODE OVER LOVE LETTERS. 117 


Shorty thinks of anything more’n a minute, except 
triple-X, all-wool, indigo-dyed cussedness that he 
kin work off on some other feller and hurt him, that 
he don't think’s as smart as he is. Think o’ him 
gushin’ out all this soft-solder to fool some poor 
girl” — 

'‘You infernal liar, you, give me that letter,” 
shouted Si, bolting into the circle and making a 
clutch at the sheet. “I’ll pound your onery head 
offen you.” 

Si had come up unnoticed, and listened for a few 
minutes to Groundhog’s tirade before he discovered 
that his partner was its object. Then he sprang 
at the teamster, struck him with one hand, and 
snatched at the letter with the other. The bystand- 
ers instinctively sided with the teamster, and Si be- 
came the center of a maelstrom of kicks and blows, 
when Shorty, seeing his partner’s predicament, bolt- 
ed down the hill and began knocking down every- 
body in reach until he cleared a way to Si’s side. 
By this time the attention of the Sergeant of the 
Guard was attracted, and he brought an energetic 
gun-barrel to the task of restoring the reign of law 
and order. 

“How in thunder’d you come to git into a fracas 
with that herd o’ mavericks. Si?” asked Shorty, in a 
tone of rebuke, as the Sergeant was rounding up 
the crowd and trying to get at who was to blame. 
“Couldn’t you find somebody on your own level to 
fight, without startin’ a fuss with a passel o’ low- 
down, rust-eaten roustabouts? What’s got into you? 
Bin livin’ so high lately that you had to have a 


118 


SI KLEGG. 


fight to work off your fractiousness? I'm surprised 
at you." 

''Groundhog’d got hold of a letter o' your'n to your 
girl up in Wisconsin," gasped Si, “and was readin' 
it to the crowd. Here's a piece of it." 

Shorty glanced at the fragment of torn paper in 
Si's hand, and a deep blush suffused his sun-browned 
cheek. Then he gave a howl and made a rush for 
Groundhog. 

“Here, let that man alone, or I'll make you," shout- 
ed the Sergeant of the Guard. 

“Sergeant," said Si, “that rat-faced teamster had 
got hold of a letter to his girl, and was reading 
it to this gang o' camp offal." 

“O," said the Sergeant, in a changed tone; “hope 
he'll baste the life out of him." And he jumped in 
before a crowd that was showing some disposition 
to go to Groundhog's assistance, sharply ordered 
them to about-face, and drove them off before him. 

“Here, Sergeant," shouted the Officer of the Guard, 
who came running up ; “what are you fooling around 
with these fellows for? They're not doing any- 
thing. Don't you see that man's killing that team- 
ster?" 

“Teamster had got hold of a letter to his girl," 
explained the Sergeant, “and was reading it to these 
whelps." 

“0," said the Officer of the Guard in a different 
tone. “Eun these rascals down there in front of 
the Quartermaster's and set them to work digging 
those stumps out. Keep them at it till midnight, 
without anything to eat. I'll teach them to raise 
disturbances in camp." 


CHAPTER X. 


AFTER BRAGG AGAIN — RESTFUL SUMMER DAYS END. 
THE UNION PEOPLE OF EAST TENNESSEE. 

T hough every man in the Army of the Cum- 
berland felt completely worn out at the end 
of the Tullahoma campaign, it needed but 
a few days’ rest in pleasant camps on the foothills 
of the Cumberland Mountains, with plenty of rations 
and supplies of clothing, to beget a restlessness for 
another advance. 

They felt envious of their comrades of the Army 
of the Tennessee, who had cornered their enemy in 
Vicksburg and forced him to complete surrender. 

On the other hand, their enemy had evaded battle 
when they offered it to him on the place he had 
himself chosen, had eluded their vigorous pursuit, 
and now had his army in full possession of the 
great objective upon which the eyes of the Army of 
the Cumberjand had been fixed for two years — Chat- 
tanooga. 

It was to Chattanooga that Gen. Scott ultimately 
looked when he began the organization of forces 
north of the Ohio River. It was to Chattanooga that 
Gens. Anderson, Sherman and Buell looked when 
they were building up the Army of the Ohio. It was 
nearly to Chattanooga that Gen. Mitchel made his 
memorable dash after the fall of Nashville, when he 
took Huntsville, Bridgeport, Stevenson and other 


120 


SI KLEGG. 


outlying places. It was for Chattanooga that the 
“Engine Thieves” made their thrilling venture, that 
cost eight of their lives. It was to Chattanooga 
that Buell was ordered with the Army of the Ohio, 
after the “siege of Corinth,” and from which he 
was run back by Bragg’s flank movement into Ken- 
tucky. It was again toward Chattanooga that Kose- 
crans had started the Army of the Cumberland from 
Nashville, in December, 1862, and the battle of Stone 
River and the Tullahoma campaign were but stages 
in the journey. 

President Lincoln wanted Chattanooga to relieve 
the sorely persecuted Unionists of East Tennessee. 
Military men wanted Chattanooga for its immense 
strategic importance, second only to that of Vicks- 
burg. 

The men of the Army of the Cumberland wanted 
Chattanooga, as those of the Army of the Potomac 
wanted Richmond, and* those of the Army of the 
Tennessee had wanted Vicksburg, as the victor’s 
guerdon which would crown all their marches, skir- 
mishes and battles. 

But between them and Chattanooga still lay three 
great ranges of mountains and a broad, navigable 
river. Where amid all these fortifications of appal- 
ling strength would Bragg offer them battle for the 
Confederacy’s vitals? 

“I don’t care what Bragg’s got over there,” said 
Si, looking up at the lofty mountain peaks, as he 
and Shorty discussed the probabilities. “He can’t 
git nothing worse than the works at War Trace and 
Shelby ville, that he took six months to build, and 
was just goin’ to slaughter us with. And if we go 


AFTER BRAGG AGAIN. 


121 


ahead now he won't have the rain on his side. It 
looks as if it has set in for a long dry spell; the 
country '11 be so we kin git around in it without 
trouble. If the walkin’ only stays good we’ll find 
a way to make Mr. Bragg hump out of Chattanooga, 
or stay in there and git captured.” 

‘"Yes,” assented Shorty, knocking the ashes out of 
his brierwood pipe, and beginning to shave down a 
plug of bright navy to refill it, “and I’ll put old 
Rosey’s brains and git-there agin all the mountains 
and rivers and forts, and breastworks and thingama- 
jigs that Bragg kin git up. Old Rosecrans is smarter 
any day in the week than Bragg is on Sunday. He 
kin give the rebels cards and spades and run ’em 
out before the fourth round is played. Only I hope 
he won’t study about it as long as he did after 
Stone River. I want to finish up the job in warm, 
dry weather, and git home.” 

And his eyes took on a far-away look, which Si 
had no difficulty interpreting that “home” meant a 
place with a queer name in distant Wisconsin. 

“Well,” said Si reflectively, “old Rosecrans didn’t 
study long after he took command of us at Nash- 
ville, before plunking us squarely at the Johnnies 
on Stone River. I think he’s out for a fight now, 
and bound to git it in short meter.” 

But the impatient boys had to wait a long Sum- 
mer month, until the railroads to the rear could be 
repaired to bring up supplies, and for the corn to 
ripen so as to furnish forage for the cavalry. 

But when, on the 16th of August, 1863, Rosecrans 
began his campaign of magnificant stragety for the 
possession of Chattanooga, the 200th Ind. had the 


122 


SI KLEGG. 


supreme satisfaction of leading the advance up into 
the mountains of living green to find the enemy and 
bring him to bay. 

A few days’ march brought them up onto the 
Cumberland Plateau. They had now left the coun- 
try of big plantations with cottonfields, and come 
upon one of small farms and poor people. Si, with 
a squad, had been marching far ahead all day as an 
advance-guard. They had seen no rebels, but all the 
same kept a constant and vigilant outlook for the 
enemy. They were approaching a log house of 
rather better class than any they had seen since 
ascending the mountain. As they raised the crest 
of a hill they heard a horn at the house give a 
signal, which set them keenly alert, and they pushed 
forward rapidly, with their guns ready. Then they 
saw a tall, slender young woman, scarcely more than 
a girl, dart out of the house and attempt to cross 
the road and open ground to the dense woods. Si 
sprang forward in pursuit. She ran like a young 
deer, but Si was swift of foot, and had taken the 
correct angle to cut her off. He caught her flying 
skirts and then grasped her wrist. 

“Where are you goin’, and what for?” he asked 
sternly, as he held her fast and looked into her 
frightened eyes, while her breast heaved with exer- 
tion and fear. 

“I ain’t goin’ nowhar, an’ for nothin’,” she an- 
swered sullenly. # 

“Yes you was, you young rebel,” said Si. “You 
were goin’ to tell some sneakin’ rebels about us. 
Where are they?” 

“Wa’n’t gwine to do nothin’ o’ the kind,” she an- 


AFTER BRAGG AGAIN. 


123 


swered between gasps for breath. ‘‘I don’t know 
whar thar’s no rebels. Thought they’uns had all 
done gone away down the mounting till I seed 
yo’uns.” 

‘‘Come, girl, talk sense,” said Si roughly. “Tell 



“SHE RAN LIKE A DEER, BUT SI CUT HER OFF.” 


me where those rebels are that you was goin’ to, 
and do it quick. Boys, look sharp.” 

A tall, very venerable man, with long, snowy- 
white hair and whiskers came hobbling up, assist- 


124 


SI KLEGG. 


ing his steps with a long staff with a handle of a 
curled and twisted rani's horn. 

“Gentlemen,*" he said, with a quavering voice, “I 
beg yo'uns won’t harm my granddaughter. She 
hain’t done nothin’ wrong. I’ll sw’ar it, t’ yo’uns. 
We’uns ’s for the Union, but that hain’t no reason 
why we’uns shoull be molested. We’uns ’s peaceable, 
law-abidin’ folks, an’ ain’t never done nothin’ agin 
the Southern Confederacy. All our neighbors knows 
that. Ax any o’ they’uns. If yo’uns must punish 
someone, take me. I’m the one that’s responsible 
for their Unionism. I’ve learned ’em nothin’ else 
sense they’uns wuz born. I’m a very old man, an’ 
hain’t long t’ live, nohow. Yo’uns kin do with me 
what yo’uns please, but for my sake spare my inno- 
cent granddaughter, who hain’t done nothin’.’’ 

Si looked at him in amazement. It was no uncom- 
mon thing for people to protest Unionism, but sin- 
cerity was written in every line of the old man’s 
face. 

“You say you’re Union,’’ he said. “If that’s so, 
you’ve nothin’ to fear from us. We’re Union sol- 
diers. But what was that signal with the horn, and 
where was this girl goin’?’’ 

“She blowed the horn at my orders, to inform my 
neighbors, and she wuz gwine on an arrant for me. 
Whatever she done I ordered her to do. Yo’uns kin 
visit hit all on my head. But hit wa’n’t nothin’ 
agin yo’uns or the Southern Confederacy.’’ 

“I tell you we’re Union soldiers,’’ repeated Si. 
“Can’t you tell that by our clothes?’’ 

The old man’s face brightened a little, but then 
a reminder of sorrowful experience clouded it again. 


AFTER BRAGG AGAIN. 


125 


“Fve never seed no Union soldiers/’ said he. “The 
rebels come around here dressed all sorts o’ ways, 
and sometimes they pretend to be Union, jest to 
lay a snare for we’uns. They’uns all know I’m 
Union, but I’m too old t’ do ’em harm. Hit’s my 
neighbors they’uns is arter. But, thank God, they- 
’uns ’s never kotched any o’ them through me.” 

“I tell you we’re genuine, true-blue Union soldiers 
from Injianny, belong to Rosecrans’s army, and 
are down here to drive the rebels out o’ the coun- 
try. There, you kin see our flag cornin’ up the 
mountain.” 

The old man shaded his eyes with his hand, and 
looked earnestly at the long line of men winding 
up the mountain-side. 

“I kin see nothin’ but a blue flag,” said he, “much 
the same as some o’ Bragg’s rijimints tote.” 

Si looked again, and noticed that only the blue 
regimental flag was displayed. 

“Wait a minnit. I’ll convince him,” said Shorty, 
and running down the mountain he took the marker 
from the right guide of the regiment, and presently 
came back waving it proudly in the sunshine. 

The old man’s face brightened like a May day, and 
then his faded eyes fllled with joyful tears as he 
exclaimed : 

“Yes, thank Almighty God, that’s hit. That’s the 
real flag o’ my country. That’s the flag I fit under 
with ole Jackson at New Orleans. I bless God that 
I’ve lived to see the day that hit’s come back.” 

He took the flag in his hands, fondly surveyed its 
bright folds, and then fervently kissed it. Then he 
said to his granddaughter: 


126 


SI KLEGG. 


“Nance, call the boys in, that they’uns's may see 
thar friends ’ve come at last/^ 

Nance seemed to need no second bidding. She 
sped back to the porch, seized the long tin horn 
and sent mellow, joyful notes floating far over the 
billowy hills, until they were caught up by the cliffs 
and echoed back in subdued melody. 

“Don't be surprised, gentlemen, at what yo'uns 'll 
see," said the old man. 

Even while the bugle-like notes were still ringing 
on the warm air, men began appearing from the 
most unexpected places. They were all of the same 
type, differing only in age from mere boys to middle- 
aged men. They were tall, raw-boned and stoop- 
shouldered, with long, black hair, and tired, sad 
eyes, which lighted up as they saw the flag and the 
men around it. They were attired in rude, home- 
spun clothes, mostly ragged and soiled, and each 
man carried a gun of some description. 

They came in such numbers that Si was startled. 
He drew his men together, and looked anxiously 
back to see how near the regiment had come. 

“I done tole yo'uns not t' be surprised," said the 
old man reassuringly; “they'uns 's all right — every 
one of 'em a true Union man, ready and willin' t' 
die for his country. The half o' they'uns hain't got 
in yit, but they'll all come in." 

“Yes, indeed," said one of the first of them to 
come in, a pleasant-faced, shapely youth, with the 
soft down of his first beard scantily fringing his 
face, and to whom Nancy had sidled up in an unmis- 
takable way. “We'uns 've bin a-layin' out in the 
woods for weeks, dodgin' ole Bragg's conscripters 


AFTER BRAGG AGAIN. 


127 


and a-waitin’ for yo’uns. We’uns 've bin watchin’ 
yo’uns all day yisterday, an’ all this mornin’, tryin’ 
t’ make out who yo’uns rayly wuz. Sometimes 
we’uns thought yo’uns wuz Yankees, an’ then agin 
that yo’uns wuz the tail-end o’ Bragg’s army. All 
we’uns ’s a-gwine t’ jine all yo’uns, an’ fout for the 
Union.” 

“Bully boys — right sentiments,” said Shorty en- 
thusiastically. “There’s room for a lot o’ you in this 
very r'egiment, and it’s the best regiment in the 
army. Co. Q’s the best company in the regiment, 
and it needs 15 or 20 fine young fellers like you to 
fill up the holes made by Stone River and Tennessee 
rain and mud.” 

“I’ll go ’long with you. Mister Ossifer, if you’ll 
take me,” said the youth, very shyly and softly to 
Si, whose appearance seemed to attract him. 

“Certainly we’ll take you,” said Si, “if the Sur- 
geon ’ll accept you, and I’ll see that you’re sworn 
in on the spot.” 

“Nancy,” said the youth diffidently to the girl, 
who had stood by his side holding his hand 
during the whole conversation, “yo’ done promised 
yo’d marry me as soon’s the Yankee soldiers done 
come for sure, and they’uns ’ve done come, millions 
of ’em. Looky thar — millions of ’em.” 

He pointed to the distant hills, every road over 
which was swarming with legions of blue. 

“Yes, Nate,” said the girl, reddening, chewing 
her bonnet-strings to hide her confusion, and stir- 
ring up the ground with the toe of her shoe, “I 
reckon I did promise yo’ I’d marry yo’ when the 
Yankee soldiers done come for sure, and thar does 


128 


SI KLEGG. 


seem t’ be a right smart passel of ’em done come al- 
ready, with a heapin’ more on the way. But yo’ ain’t 
gwine t’ insist on me keep in’ my promise right off, 
air yo’?” 

And she took a bigger bite at her bonnet-strings 
and dug a deeper hole with the toe of her shoe. 

'‘Yes, indeedy — right off — jest the minnit I kin 
find a preacher,” replied Nate, growing bolder and 
more insistent as he felt his happiness approaching. 
“I’m a-gwine off t’ the war with this gentleman’s 
company (indicating Si with a wave of his disen- 
gaged hand), and we must be spliced before I 
start. Say, Mister Ossifer (to Si), kin yo’ tell me 
whar I kin find a preacher?” 

Si and Shorty and the rest were taking a deep in- 
terest in the affair. It was so fresh, so genuine, so 
unconventional that it went straight to all their 
hearts, and, besides, made a novel incident in their 
campaign. They were all on the side of the would- 
be bridegroom at once, and anxious for his success. 
The Adjutant had come up with the order that they 
should stop where they were, for the regiment would 
go into camp just below for the day. So they had 
full leisure to attend to the matter. The Tennes- 
seeans took only a modified interest, for the presence 
of the Union army was a much more engrossing 
subject, and they preferred to stand and gaze open- 
eyed and open-mouthed at the astonishing swarms 
of blue-clad men rather than to pay attention to a 
commonplace mountain wooing. 

“We have a preacher — he’s the Chaplain of the 
regiment,” suggested Si. 

“Any sort of a preacher’ll do for me,” said Nate 


AFTER BRAGG AGAIN. 


129 


sanguinely, “so long ’s he's a preacher — Hard Shell, 
Free Will, Campbellite, Winebrennarian, Methodist, 
Cumberland Presbyterian — and kind, so long 's he’s 
a regularly-ordained preacher, ’ll do for me. Won’t 
hit for you, honey?” 

“Granddad’s a Presbyterian,” she said, blushing, 
“and Pd rather he’d be a Presbyterian. Better ax 
granddad.” 

Nate hurried over to the grandfather, who was so 
deeply engrossed in talking politics, the war, and the 
persecutions the East Tennesseeans had endured at 
the hands of the rebels with the officers and soldiers 
gathered around that he did not want to be bothered 
with such a oomparatively unimportant matter as 
the marriage of a granddaughter. 

“Yes, marry her any way you like, so long as you 
marry her honest and straight,” said he impatiently 
to Nate. Then, as Nate turned away, he explained 
to those about him: “That’s the 45th grandchild 
that Fve had married, and Fm kind o’ gittin used 
t’ hit, so t’ speak. Nate and her ’ve bin keepin’ com- 
pany and courtin’ ever sense they wuz weaned, an’ 
bin pesterin’ the life out o’ me for years t’ let ’em 
git jined. Sooner hit’s done the better. As I wuz 
say in’, we’uns give 80,000 majority in Tennessee 
agin Secession, but ole Isham Harris” — etc. 

“Fll speak to the Adjutant about it,” said Si, when 
Nate came back glowing with gladness. 

The young Adjutant warmly approved the en- 
listment proposition, and was electrified by the idea 
of the marriage. 

“I’ll go and talk to the Colonel and the Chaplain 
about it. Why, it’ll be no end of fun. We’ll fix up 


130 


SI KLEGG. 


a wedding-supper for them, have the band serenade 
them, and send an account of it home to the papers. 
You go and get them ready, and I’ll attend to the 
rest. Say, I think we’d better have him enlisted, and 
then married afterward. That’ll make it a regi- 
mental affair. You take him down to Capt. Mc- 
Gillicuddy, that he may take him before the Surgeon 
and have him examined. Then we’ll regularly en- 
list him, and he’ll be one of us, and in the bonds of 
the United States before he is in the bonds of matri- 
mony. It’ll be the first marriage in the regiment, but 
not the first one that is ardently desired, by a long 
shot.” 

The Adjutant gave a little sigh, which Si could 
not help echoing, and Shorty joined in. 

''Well, our turns will come, too, boys,” said the 
Adjutant with a laugh, "when this cruel war is 
over.” And he whistled "The Girl I Left Behind 
Me” as he rode back to camp. 

The Surgeon found Nathan Hartburn physically 
sound, the oath was duly administered to the young 
recruit, and he made his mark on the enlistment 
papers, and was pronounced a soldier of the United 
States, belonging to Co. Q, 200th Ind. He had been 
followed through all these steps by a crowd of his 
friends, curious to see just what was the method 
of "jinin’ the Union army,” and when Co. Q received 
its new member with cheers and friendly congratu- 
lations the others expressed their eagerness to fol- 
low his example. 

Co. Q was in a ferment over the wedding, with 
everybody eager to do something to help make it a 
grand success, and to fill the hearts of the other 


AFTER BRAGG AGAIN. 


131 


companies with envy. The first and greatest prob- 
lem was to provide the bridegroom with a uniform 
in which to be married. The Quartermaster’s 
wagons were no one knew exactly where, but cer- 
tainly a day or more back on the road, and no one 
had started out on the campaign with any extra 
clothing. Shorty, who considered himself directly 
responsible for the success of the affair, was for 
awhile in despair. He was only deterred from steal- 
ing a pair of the Colonel’s trousers by the timely 
thought that it would, after all, be highly improper 
for a private to be wearing a pair of pantaloons with 
a gold cord. Then he resolved to make a sacrifice 
of himself. He was the nearest Nate’s proportions of 
any man in the company, and he had drawn a new 
pair of trousers just before starting on the march. 
They had as yet gotten very slightly soiled. He went 
to the spring and laboriously washed them until 
they were as bright as new, and, after they were 
dried, insisted on Nate trading pantaloons with him. 
A new blouse was more readily found, and as readily 
contributed by its owner. Si freely gave up his sole 
extra shirt, and another donated a pair of reserve 
'shoes. The Adjutant came in with a McClellan cap. 
When the company barber cut Nate’s long hair, and 
shaved him, he was arrayed in his wedding uniform, 
and as Si had given him a little drill in holding him- 
self erect, he was as presentable a soldier as could 
be found in the regiment, and quite as proud of him- 
self as the boys of Co. Q were of him. Then an- 
other despairing thought struck Shorty: 

'' ’Tain’t right, he communed with Si and the rest, 
“that the bridegroom should have all the good 


132 


SI KLEGG. 


clothes. The bride should have the boss togs o' the 
two. If we was only back near Nashville she should 
have a layout that'd out-rag the Queen o' Sheby, if 
it took every cent there was in the company. But 
I don't suppose you could buy a yard o' kaliker or 
a stitch o' finery within 50 miles o' this clay knob." 

“What we might do," said Si reflectively, “would 
be to give her her trowso futuriously, so to speak. 
We've just bin paid off, and hain't had no chance to 
spend our money, so that all the boys has some. 
Every one o' 'em 'll be glad to give a dollar, which 
you kin hand her in a little speech, tellin' her that 
we intended to present her with her trowso, but cir- 
cumstances over which we had no control, mainly 
the distance to a milliner shop, prevented, but we 
would hereby present her with the means to git it 
whenever convenient, and she could satisfy herself 
much better by picking it out her ownself. You 
want to recollect that word trowso. It's the ele- 
gant thing for a woman's wedding finery, and if 
you use it you'll save yourself from mentioning 
things that you don't know nothin' about, and prob- 
ably oughtn't to mention. My sisters learned it to 
me. A girl who'd bin at boarding-school learned 
them." 

“Good idee," said Shorty, slapping his leg. “I'll 
go right out and collect a dollar from each of the 
boys. Say that word over agin, till I git it sure." 

Shorty came back in a little while with his hands 
full of greenbacks “Every boy ponied right up the 
moment I spoke to him," he said. “And the Captain 
and Adjutant each gave $5. She's got money enough 


AFTER BRAGG AGAIN. 


133 


to buy out the best milliner shop in this part o' 
Tennessee." 

Next came thoughts of a wedding-supper for the 
bride's friends. The Colonel took the view that the 
large number of recruits which he expected to gain 
justified him in ordering the Commissary to issue a 
liberal quantity of rations. Two large iron wash- 
kettles were scoured out — one used to make coffee in 
and the other to boil meat, while there was sugar 
and hardtack in abundance. The mountains were 
covered with royal blooms of rhododendron, and at 
the Adjutant's suggestion enough of these were cut 
to fill every nook and corner of the main room of 
the house, hiding the rough logs and dark corners 
with masses of splendid color, much to the astonish- 
ment of the bride, who had never before thought 
of rhododendrons as a feature of house adornment. 

Then, just before 6 o'clock roll-call, Co. Q, with 
every man in it cleaned up as for dress-parade, with 
Nathan Hartburn at the head, supported on either 
side by Si and Shorty, and flanked by the Adjutant 
and Chaplain, marched up the hill to the house, led 
by the fifers and drummers, playing the reveille, 
“When the Cruel War is Over," “Yankee Doodle," 
and everything else in their limited repertory which 
they could think as at all appropriate to the occa- 
sion. The rest of the regiment, with most of the 
officers, followed after. 

The Chaplain took his place in front of the 
rhododendron-filled fireplace. The bride and groom 
stood before him, with Si and Shorty in support. 
All of Co. Q crowded into the room, and the rest 
looked through the windows and doors. The Chap- 


134 


SI KLEGG. 


lain spoke the words which made the young couple 
man and wife, and handed them a certificate to that 
eifect. Shorty then advanced, with his hand full of 
greenbacks, and said: 

“Missis Hartburn: Co. Q of the 200th Ind., of 
which you are now a brevet member, has appointed 
me to present their congratulations. We extend 
to you the right hand of fellership of as fine a 
crowd o’ soldiers as ever busted caps on any field 
of battle. We’re very glad to have your young hus- 
band with us. We’ll take care of him, treat him 
right, and bring him back to you crowned with the 
laurels of victory. You just bet your life we will. 
That’s our way o’ doin’ things. Madam, Co. Q very 
much wished to present you with a trou — trou — 
tro — what is that blamed word, Si?” 

“Trowso,” whispered Si — 

“with a trowso,” continued Shorty, “but circum- 
stances and about 150 mile o’ mud road over which 
we have no control prevented. To show, though, 
that we really meant business, and ain’t givin’ you 
no wind, we have collected the skads for a regular 
24-carat trow — trous — trows — ^trou — tro — (blamed 
the dinged word, what is it. Si?)” 

“Trowso,” prompted Si — 

“for a regler 24-carat trowso which I have the 
pleasure o’ putting in your lily-white hands, at the 
same time wishin’ for the company, for you and 
your husband, all happiness and joy in your married 
life. No more, from yours truly.” 

Shorty’s brow was beaded with perspiration as 
he concluded this intellectual effort and handed the 
bride the money, which she accepted, as she had 


AFTER BRAGG AGAIN. 


135 


done everything else on that eventful day, as some- 
thing that she was expected to do. The company 
applauded as if it had been a speech by Daniel Web- 
ster, and then the supper-table was attacked. 

Then came pipes, and presently the brigade band 
came over and serenaded. A fiddle was produced 
from somewhere, and a dance started. Suddenly 
came the notes of a drum in camp. 

''Early for tattoo, ain’t it?” said they, looking in- 
quiringly at one another. 

"That’s no tattoo,” said Shorty; "that’s the long 
roll. Break for camp, everybody.” 


CHAPTER XI. 


THE MOUNTAIN FOLK — THE SHADOW OF AN EAST 
TENNESSEE VENDETTA. 

T he long roll turned out to be occasioned by 
the burning of a Union Tennesseean's house 
by a squad of revengeful guerrillas, but the 
regiment had to stay under arms until a party of 
cavalry went out and made an investigation. The 
men stacked their arms, and lay around on the 
ground to get what sleep was possible, and which 
was a good deal, for the night was pleasant, and 
there are worse beds than the mossy hillside on a 
July night. 

'‘Too bad that your weddin’ night had to be 
broken up so," said Si sympathetically, as he and 
Shorty and the bridegroom sat together on a knoll 
and watched the distant flames. “But you needn’t 
’ve come with us this time; nobody expected you 
to." 

“Why, I s’posed this wuz part o’ the regler thing," 
answered Nate in amazement. “I s’posed that wuz 
the way yo’uns allers married folkses in the army. 
Allers something happens at weddin’s down hyah. 
Mos’ ginerully hit’s a free font betwixt the young 
fellers o’ the bride’s an’ bridegroom’s famblies, 
from ’sputin’ which fambly’s made the best match. 
When Brother Wils married Becky Barnstable we 
Hartburn boys said that Wils mout-ve looked higher. 
The Barnstable boys done tuk hit up, an’ said thq 


THE MOUNTAIN FOLK. 


137 


Barnstables wuz ez good ez the Hartburns ary day 
in the week, an’ at the weddin’ Nels Barnstable had 
his eye gouged out, Ike Barnstable wuz knocked 
down with a flail, an’ had what the doctor called 
discussion o’ the brain, and ole Sandy Barnstable 
cut off Pete Hartburn’s ear with a bowie. They-uns 
reopened the argyment at the in-fair, an’ laid out 
two o’ the Hartburns with ox-gads. I don’t think 
they orter used ox-gads. ’Tain’t gentlemanly. D’ye 
think so? Knives, an’ pistols, an’ guns, an’ even 
flails an’ axes, is all right, when you can’t git noth- 
in’ better, but I think ox-gads is low an’ onery.” 

Si and Shorty looked at the gentle, drawling, mild- 
eyed young Tennesseean with amazement. A young 
girl could not have seemed softer or more pliant, 
yet he quietly talked of savage fighting as one of 
the most casual things in life. 

'‘Well,” said Shorty, “if that’s the way you cele- 
brat weddin’s and in-fairs down here in Tennessee, 
I don’t wonder that you welcome a battle for a 
change. I think I’d prefer a debate with guns to 
one with axes and flails and anything that’d come 
handy. It’s more reg’ler to have umpires and ref- 
erees, and the thing conducted accordin’ to the 
rules of the P. R. Then when you git through you 
know for sure who’s licked.” 

“Jist ’cordin’ t’ how one’s raised,” remarked Nate 
philosophically. “I’ve allers done seed a big furse 
o’ some kind at a weddin’. Don’t all yo’uns have 
none at yo’uns’s weddin’s ?” 

“Nothin’ worse’n gittin’ the girl’s dad to consent,” 
answered Shorty, “and scratchin’ ’round to git the 
money to git married on — to buy a new suit o’ 


138 


SI KLEGG. 


clothes, fee the preacher, pay for the license, and 
start housekeeping. That's enough for one lifetime." 

'‘Well, mam an' the gals made Wils's weddin' 
cloze," said Nate reflectively. "He had his own 
sheep, which he sheared in the Spring. They'uns 
carded, spun, dyed, an' wove the wool themselves, 
an' made him the purtiest suit o' cloze ever seed on 
the mountings." 

"Your mother and sisters goin' to make your 
weddin' suit, Si?" asked Shorty. "What'd he have 
to pay for the license?" 

"License? What's that?" asked Nate. 

"License? Why, a license," explained Si, "is 
something you git from the County Clerk. It's leave 
to git married, and published in the County paper." 

"Don't have t' have no leave from nobody down 
here t' git married. Hit's nobody's business but the 
man's an' the gal's, an' they'uns's famblies. Some- 
times other folkses tries t' stick their noses in, but 
they'uns git sot down upon." 

"What'd he pay the preacher?" asked Shorty. 

"Why, mam gin his wife a hank o' fine stockin' 
yarn, an' dad gin him a couple sides o' bacon." 

"At present prices o' pork in Injianny," remarked 
Si, after a little mental figuring, "that wasn't such 
a bad fee." 

"If you speak to the Captain," suggested Si, "he'll 
let you go back home to your wife. I don't believe 
there's goin' to be anything special to-night. The 
cavalry don't seem to be stirrin' up nothin out 
there." 

"I don't keer t'," said Nate, in his sweet, girlish 
drawl. "Ruther stay with yo'all. Mout somethin' 


THE MOUNTAIN FOLK. 


139 


happen. Biff Perkins an’ his gang o’ gorillers is out 
thar somewhar, not fur off, huntin’ a chance fur 
deviltry. I’d like mouty t’ git a whack at they’uns. 
Nance’ll keep. She’s mine now, fast an’ good, for- 
ever, an’ll wait fur me. Afore we wuz spliced I 
wuz afeered Zach Barnstable mout work some con- 
trivance t’ git her, but now she belongs t’ me.” 

The boys took him to their hearts more than ever. 

At the coming of the early dawn the regiment was 
aroused and marched back to camp, there to meet 
orders to move forward at once, as soon as breakfast 
was prepared and eaten. Away it marched for the 
Tennessee River, behind which Bragg was supposed 
to be gathering his forces for the defense of Chat- 
tanooga. 

As Co. Q went by the cabin. Grandfather Onslow 
was seated in a rocking-chair on the porch, smoking 
a cob pipe, while Mrs. Nancy Onslow Hartburn, with 
her finger bashfully in her mouth, peeped around 
the corner. Co. Q gave her a cheer, at which she 
turned and fled out of sight, as if it was some raillery 
on her newly-married state, and Nate hung down 
his head, as if he, too, felt the boys were poking fun 
at him. 

''Good-by, boys. Lick the life outen Ole Bragg,” 
quavered Grandfather Onslow, waving his hand after 
them. 

"That’s what we’re goin’ to do,” shouted the boys 
in reply. 

"Well,” said Si, "I bet if ever I’m married I’ll 
kiss my wife before I go away.” 

"Me, too,” echoed Shorty, very soulfully. 

Shorty and Si considered Nate Hartburn their 


140 


SI KLEGG. 


special protege, and were deeply anxious to trans- 
form him into a complete soldier in the shortest pos- 
sible time. He was so young, alert, and seemingly 
pliable, that it appeared there would be no difficulty 
in quickly making him a model soldier. But they 
found that while he at once responded to any sug- 
gestion of a raid or a fight, drill, discipline and 
camp routine were bores that he could be induced 
to take only a languid interest in. Neither Si nor 
Shorty were any too punctilious in these matters, 
but they were careful to keep all the time within 
easy conversational distance of the regulations and 
tactics. Naturally, also, they wanted their pupil 
to do better than they did. But no lecturing would 
prevent yoimg Hartburn from slouching around 
camp with his hands in his pockets and his head 
bent. He would not or could not keep step in the 
ranks, nor mark time. While Si was teaching him 
he would make a listless attempt to go through the 
manual of arms, but he would make no attempt to 
handle his gun the prescribed way after the lesson 
was ended. Si was duly mindful of the sore time 
he himself had in learning the drill, and tried to 
be very considerate with him, but his patience was 
sorely tried at times. 

“For goodness’ sake, Nate,” Si would say irritably, 
“try to keep step. You’re throwin’ everybody out.” 

“ ’Tain’t my fault. Si,” Nate would reply with a 
soft drawl. “Hit’s theirs. I’m walkin’ all right, but 
they’uns hain’t. Jaw them. What’s the sense o’ 
walkin’ so close together, anyway? Yo’ don’t git 
thar no sooner.” 

Then again: 


THE MOUNTAIN FOLK. 


141 


“Great jumpin’ Jehosephat, Nate, wjjl you never 
learn the right way to hold your gun when you 
present arms?' You must turn the trigger outside, 
not the hammer.” 

“0, Jeminy, what difference does hit make? I 
never kin recollect hit, an’ what’s the use o’ tryin’? 
Can’t see no sense in holdin’ a gun straight up an’ 
down that-a-way, anyway, an’ if yo’ do, hain’t one 
side jest as good as t’other?” 

He was so obdurate that the boys would some- 
times be provoked to sharp words to him, but his 
gentle speech would quickly disarm them again, 
and make them feel penitent. 

At last the 200th Ind. came out upon the crest 
of Waldron’s Ridge, overlooking the Tennessee 
River, which wound and turned amid the towering 
mountains like a band of bright silver traversing 
the giant billows of green. Everyone caught his 
breath at the sight, for beyond the stream were 
rebel camps, and moving trains and long lines of 
marching men. Was all of Bragg’s army gathered 
over there to dispute the passage or was a part 
still this side of the river, ready to pounce on our 
heads of columns as they meandered down the moun- 
tain ? 

The brigade was closed .up, information sent to 
the Division Commander, and the 200th Ind. pushed 
to the front to develop whatever might be there. 
Si with Shorty and some others were sent ahead 
to feel for the enemy. 

“Take him along?” asked Si of Shorty in a low 
tone, with a nod toward Nate, as they were mak- 
ing up the squad. 


142 


SI KLEGG. 


''Don't ki\pw," answered Shorty. "If ever in the 
world, we want men with us tp-day who don't git 
rattled, and make a holy show o' theirselves before 
the regiment, but'll keep cool, watch their chances, 
and obey orders. Guess we'd better leave him be- 
hind." 

"Seems to me," said Si, trying vaguely to recall 
his Scriptual readings, "that the Bible says some- 
thing agin takin' a newly-married man right into 
battle just after he's married." 

He looked around again, saw Nate taking his place 
along with the other men selected, and called out: 

"Here, Nate, fall back to the company. You can't 
go along." 

"Please, Mister Si, le' me go along," begged Nate, 
in the soft tones of a girl asking for a flower. "I'll 
be good. I'll hold my gun straight, an' try t' keep 
step." 

"No, you can't go. This 's partickler business, 
and we want only experienced men with us. Bet- 
ter fall back to the company." 

"Go ahead, there. Corporal," commanded the Ad- 
jutant. "Time's passing. We must move." 

Si deployed his men and entered the dense woods 
which curtained the view, and shrouded the enemy. 
It was one of those deeply anxious moments in war, 
when the enemy is in ambush, and the next instant, 
the next step may develop him in deadly activity. 

Si was on the right of his line and Shorty on the 
left, and they were pushing forward slowly, 
cautiously, and with every sense strained to the 
extremity of alertness. 

So dense was the foliage overhead that it was al- 


THE MOUNTAIN FOLK. 


143 


most a twilight in the forest depths they were pene- 
trating, and Si’s eyes, were strained to keep track 
of the men moving on his left, and at the same time 



'you must’nt kill a wounded man.’ 


watch the developments in front. He had noticed 
that he was approaching a little opening some dis- 
tance ahead, and that beyond it was a dense thicket 
of tall laurels. Then he thought he heard a low 


144 


SI KLEGG. 


whistle from Shorty, and looked far to the left, 
while continuing to walk forward. 

Suddenly he was startled by a shot a little to his 
rear and left. Then a shot answered from the 
laurel thicket, he saw the bushes over there stir 
violently, and he heard Nate’s voice say: 

“He wuz layin’ for yo’. Si, an’ come nigh a-gittin’ 
yo’, but I think I must’ve at least creased him, from 
the wild way he shot back. Le’s go forrard an’ 
see.” 

“I thought I told you to stay back,” said Si, more 
intent on military discipline than his escape. 

“I know yo’ did done hit, but I couldn’t mind, an’ 
tagged ’long arter yo’.” 

“How’d you know he wuz there?” 

“I done seed the bushes move over his head. I 
knowed jest how he wuz a-layin’ for yo’. Le’s go 
forrard an’ git him.” 

Si and Nate ran across the open space to the 
laurels, and found a little ways in a bushwhacker 
staggering from pain and loss of blood from a 
wound in his hip, and making labored efforts to 
escape. 

“I done hit him; I done fetched him; I done 
knowed Jist whar he wuz,” exclaimed Nate with boy- 
ish exultation. 

At the sound of his voice the bushwhacker turned 
around upon him an ugly, brutal face, full of savage 
hatred. 

“Why, hit’s bad ole Wash Barnstable, what burnt 
daddy’s stable with two horses, an’ shot brother Wils 
through the arm. I’ll jist job him in the heart 
with my bayonet,” screamed the boy as he recog- 


THE MOUNTAIN FOLK. 


145 


nized the face. His own features became trans- 
figured with rage, and he began .fixing his bayonet. 
Si pushed forward and caught the bushwhacker by 
the shoulder and tore the gun from his hand. Nate 
came springing up, with his bayonet pointed directly 
at the man’s heart. Si saw it in time to thrust it 
aside, saying in wrathful astonishment: 

'‘Nate, you little scoundrel, what do you mean? 
Would you kill a wounded man?” 

"Suttenly I’ll done kill him,” screamed the boy in 
a frenzy of rage. "Why not? He desarves hit, the 
hell-hound. All of us Hartburns ’ve said we’d done 
kill him the minnit we laid eyes on him. Now that 
I’ve got him I’m gwine t’ finish him.” 

He made another vicious lunge at the man with 
his bayonet. 

"Indeed you’re not,” said Si, releasing his hold 
on the prisoner and catching Nate’s gun. "You 
mustn’t kill a wounded man, you young wildcat.” 

"Why not?” shouted the boy, beside himself with 
rage. "He’s done killed lots o’ men. He’ll kill 
more if yo’ let him go. He wuz lay in’ t’ kill yo’. 
Air yo’ gwine t’ gin him another chance to down 
yo’?” 

Si wrested the gun from him. Two or three other 
boys who had been attracted by the shot came up 
at this moment. Si gave the prisoner into the 
charge of one of them, with instructions to take him 
to the rear. Nate released his hold on his gun and 
made a jump for the one which the other boy had 
stood against a tree when he started to take hold 
of the prisoner. Again Si was too quick for him. 
He was by this time so angry that he was in the 
6 


146 


SI KLEGG. 


mood to give Nate a severe lesson, but the Adjutant, 
who had ridden forward, called out: 

“Go ahead, there. Corporal. We're just behind 
you." 

“Pick up your gun, there, Nate, and come along 
with me, if you kin behave yourself. There’s work 
ahead more important than killin’ wounded bush- 
whackers. Come along, this minute.’’ 

Nate hesitated a moment, then picked up his gun 
with a vengeful look at the prisoner. 

“I’ll kill him yit. Mebbe I’ll git a chance this 
evenin’ yit,’’ said he, and followed Si. 


CHAPTER XIL 


SI AND SHORTY IN LUCK — THEY MAKE A BRIEF 
VISIT TO ''god's country." 

T he shot fired by Nate Hartburn was the 
only one that interrupted the progress of 
the 200th Ind. to the banks of the Tennessee 
River. Its cautious advance at last brought it out 
on the crest of a hill, at the foot of which, 200 feet 
below, flowed the clear current of the mountain-fed 
stream. The rebels were all on the other side. 
Their pickets could be plainly seen, and they held 
the further pier of the burned railroad bridge. To 
our right rose three strong forts, built the year 
previous. 

As soon as it was determined that all the enemy 
were beyond the river, the 200th Ind. went into 
camp for the afternoon and night upon a cleared 
spot which had been used for that purpose before 
our troops had been flanked out of that country 
by Bragg's raid into Kentucky just a year before. 

A dress parade was ordered at 6 o'clock, and when 
the Adjutant came to "publish the orders," the regi- 
ment was astonished and Si electrified to hear: 

"In pursuance of orders from Division Headquar- 
ters to detail squads from each of the different regi- 
ments to proceed to their respective States to bring 
back recruits and drafted men for the regiments. 
First Lieut. Bowersox, of Co. A, and Corp'l Josiah 


148 


SI KLEGG. 


Klegg, of Co. Q, with six enlisted men of that com- 
pany, to be selected by Capt. McGillicuddy, are here- 
by detailed for that duty, and will prepare to leave 
to-morrow morning.” 

Si clutched his partner in his excitement and 
whispered : 

'‘Shorty, did you hear that? I’m to be sent back 
to Injianny. Ain’t that what he said?” 

"If my ears didn’t mistake their eyesight, them 
was about his words,” returned Shorty. "You’re in 
luck.” 

"And you’re goin’ with me. Shorty.” 

"The Adjutant didn’t include that in his observa- 
tions. I ain’t so crazy, anyway, to git back to In- 
jianny. Now, if it wuz Wisconsin it’d be different. 
If you’ve got any recruits to bring on from Wis- 
consin, I’m your man. I’d go up there at my own 
expense, though I don’t s’pose that Rosecrans could 
spare me just now. What’d become o’ the army if 
he’d git sick, and me away?” 

"But, Shorty, you are goin’. You must go. I 
won’t go if you don’t.” 

"Don’t say won’t too loud. You’re detailed, and 
men that’s detailed don’t have much choice in the 
matter. 

"You’ll probably act sensibly and do whatever 
you’re ordered to do. Of course, I’d like to go, if 
we kin git back in time for this sociable with Mister 
Bragg. Don’t want to miss that. That’ll be the 
he-fight o’ the war, and probably the last battle.” 

"Nor do I,” answered Si; "but the thing won’t 
come off till we git back. They wouldn’t be sending 


SI AND SHORTY IN LUCK. 


149 


back for the drafted men and recruits except that 
they want 'em to help out." 

“They’ll be a durned sight more in the way than 
help," answered Shorty. “We don’t need ’em. We’ve 
handled Bragg so far very neatly, all by ourselves, 
and we don’t need anybody to mix into our little 
job. The fewer we have the more credit there’ll 
be in lickin’ old Bragg and capturin’ Chattanoogy." 

The Orderly-Sergeant interrupted the discussion 
by announcing : 

“Here, Shorty, you’re one to go with Si. The de- 
tail is made by the Colonel’s orders as a compliment 
to the good work you boys have been doing, and 
which the Colonel knows about." 

“I always said that the Colonel had the finest 
judgment as to soldiers of any man in the army,” 
said Shorty, after taking a minute’s pause to re- 
cover from the compliment. 

The boys were immediately surrounded by their 
comrades, congratulating them, and requesting that 
they would take back letters and money for them. 
The Paymaster had recently visited the regiment, 
and everybody had money which he wished to send 
home. There were also commissions to purchase in- 
numerable things, ranging from meerschaum pipes 
to fine flannel shirts. 

“Look here, boys," said Shorty, good-humoredly, 
“we want to be obligin’, but we’re neither a Adams 
Express Company nor in the gent’s furnishin’ line. 
We’ve neither an iron safe to carry money nor a 
pedler’s wagon to deliver goods. John Morgan’s 
guerrillas may jump us on the way home, and cornin’ 
back we’ll have to have packs to carry the truck in. 


150 


SI KLEGG. 


and half of it 'll be stole before we git to the regi- 
ment." 

But the comrades would not be dissuaded, and be- 
fore Si and Shorty went to sleep they had between 
$5,000 and $6,000 of their comrades’ money stowed 
in various safe places about their personages. 

“Great Jehosephat, Si," murmured Shorty, when 
they sat together in their tent, after the last com- 
rade had departed, leaving his “wad of greenbacks," 
with directions as to its disposition, “I never felt 
so queer and skeery in all my life. I wouldn’t for 
the world lose a dollar of the money these boys have 
been earnin’ as they have this. But how under 
heaven are we goin’ to make sure of it?" 

“I’ve thought of a way o’ makin’ sure of to-night," 
said Si. “I spoke to the Officer of the Guard, and 
he’ll put a sentinel over us to-night, so’s we kin git 
a little sleep. I wouldn’t shet my eyes, if it wasn’t 
for that. We’ll have to let to-morrow take care of 
itself." 

Shorty lay down and tried to go to sleep, but the 
responsibility weighed too heavily on his mind. 
Presently, Si, who, for the same reason, only slept 
lightly, was awakened by his partner getting up. 

“What are you up to?" Si asked. 

“I’ve bin thinkin about pickpockets," answered 
Shorty. “They’re an awful slick lot, and I’ve 
thought of a hiding place that’ll fool ’em." 

He picked up his faithful Springfield, and draw- 
ing an envelope with money out of his shirt-pocket, 
rolled it up to fit the muzzle of his gun, and then 
rammed it down. 

“That’s Jim Meddler’s $10," he said. “I’ll know 


SI AND SHORTY IN LUCK. 


151 


it, because his mother’s name’s on the envelope. 
Here goes Pete Irvin’s $20. I know it because it 
has his wife’s name on it.” 

He continued until he had the barrel of the gun 
filled, and then stopped to admire his cunning. 

“Now, nobody but me’d ever thought o’ hidin’ 
money in a gun. That’s safe, as least. All I’ve got 
to do is to stick to my gun until we git acrost the 
Ohio River. But I hain’t got the tenth part in; 
where kin I put the rest? 0, there’s my cartridge- 
box and cap-box. Nobody’ll think o’ lookin’ there 
for money.” 

He filled both those receptacles, but still had fully 
half his money left on his person. 

“That’ll just have to take its chances with the 
pickpockets,” said he, and returned to his bed, with 
his gun by his side, and his cap- and cartridge- 
boxes under his head. 

The morning came, with their money all right, as 
they assured themselves by careful examination im- 
mediately after reveille. 

As they fell in under Lieut. Bowersox to start, 
their comrades crowded around to say good-by, give 
additional messages for the home-folks, and direc- 
tions as to their money, and what they wanted 
bought. 

But Shorty showed that he was overpowered with 
a nervous dread of pickpockets. He saw a possible 
light-fingered thief in everyone that approached. 
He would let nobody touch him, stood off a little 
distance from the rest of the squad, and when any- 
body wanted to shake hands would hold him stiffly 
at arm’s length. 


152 


SI KLEGG. 


'‘Gittin’ mighty stuck-up just because the Colonel 
patted you on the back a little, and give you a soft 
detail,'' sneered one of Co. Q. 

'‘Well, you'd be stuck-up, too," answered Shorty, 
“if your clothes was padded and stuffed with other 
folks' greenbacks, and you was in the midst o' 
sich a talented lot o' snatchers as the 200th Injianny. 
Mind, I ain't makin' no allusions nor references, and 
I think the 200th Injianny is the honestest lot o’ 
boys in the Army o' the Cumberland ; but if I wanted 
to steal the devil's pitchfork right out o’ his hand. 
I'd make a detail from the 200th Injianny to do the 
job, and I'd be sure o' gittin’ the pitchfork. I’ll 
trust you all — ^when you're 10 feet away from me." 

The others grinned and gave him a cheer. 

When they went to get on board the train Shorty 
had to change his tactics. He got Si on his right, 
the Lieutenant immediately in front of them, and 
two trusted boys of the squad directly behind, with 
strict injunctions to press up close, allow nobody be- 
tween, and keep a hawk's eye om everybody. But 
both Si and Shorty were breathless with apprehen- 
sion till they got through the crowd and were seat- 
ed in the car, and a hasty feeling of various lumps 
about their persons assured them that their charges 
were safe. They were in a passenger car, for luck. 
The Lieutenant sat in front. Si and Shorty next, 
and the two trusty boys immediately behind. They 
breathed a sigh of relief. As they stood their guns 
over against the side of the car. Si suddenly asked: 

“Shorty, did you draw your charge before you 
rammed that money in?" 


SI AND SHORTY IN LUCK. 


153 


Shorty jumped to his feet in a shudder of alarm, 
and exclaimed: 

^‘Great Jehosephat, no. I forgot all about it.” 

'‘What’s that you’re saying about guns?” inquired 
the Lieutenant, turning around. “You want to load 
them, and keep them handy. We’re liable to strike 
some guerrillas along the way, and we must be 
ready for them.” 

“You fellers’ll have to do the shootin’,” whispered 
Shorty to Si. “It’ll be a cold day when I bang $150 
in greenbacks at any rebel that ever jumped. I’m 
goin’ to take the cap offen my gun. The jostlin’ o’ 
the train’s likely to knock it off at any time, and send 
a small fortune through the roof o’ the car. I’d 
take the money out, but I’m afraid o’ tearin’ it all 
to pieces, with the train plungin’ so.” 

He carefully half-cocked his piece, took off the 
cap, rubbed the nipple to remove any stray frag- 
ments of fulminate, and then let the hammer down 
on a piece of wadding taken from his cap. 

The long ride to Nashville over the ground on 
which they had been campaigning and fighting for 
nearly a year would have been of deepest interest to 
Si and Shorty, as it was to the rest, if they could 
have freed their minds of responsibilities long 
enough to watch the scenery. But they would give 
only a cursory glance any say : 

“We’ll look at it as we come back.” 

In the crowded depot at Nashville they had an- 
other panic, but the Provost-Guard kept a gang- 
way clear as soon as it was discovered that they 
were on duty. 

“You can stack your arms there, boys,” said the 


154 


SI KLEGG. 


Sergeant of the Guard, “and go right over there and 
get a warm supper, with plenty of coffee/' 

All but Shorty obeyed with alacrity, and stacked 
their guns with the quickness of old and hungry vet- 
erans. 

Shorty kept hold of his gun and started with the 
rest to the supper-room. 

“Here, Injianny," called out the Sergeant, “stack 
your gun here with the rest." 

“Don’t want to — ain’t goin’ to,’’ answered Shorty. 

“What’s the reason you ain’t?’’ asked the Ser- 
geant, catching hold of the gun. “Nobody’s going 
to take it, and if they did, you can pick up another. 
Plenty of ’em, jest as good as that, all around here.’’ 

“Don’t care. This is my own gun. I think more 
of it than any gun ever made, and I ain’t goin’ to 
take any chance of losin’ it.’’ 

“Well, then, you’ll take a chance of losing your 
supper,’’ answered the Sergeant, “or rather you’ll 
be certain of it, for the orders are strict against 
taking guns into the supper-room. Too many acci- 
dents have happened.’’ 

“Well, then,’’ said Shorty stoutly, “I’ll do without 
my supper, though I’m hungrier than a wolf at the 
end of a long Winter.’’ 

“Well, if you’re so infernal pig-headed, you’ve got 
to,’’ answered the Sergeant, nettled at Shorty’s ob- 
stinacy. “Go back beyond the gunstack, and stay 
there. Don’t you come nearer the door than the 
other side of the stack.’’ 

Shorty’s dander rose up at once. At any other 
time he would have conclusions with the Sergeant 
then and there. But the remembrance of his charge 


SI AND SHORTY IN LUCK. 


155 


laid a repressive hand upon his quick choler, and 
reminded him that any kind of a row would prob- 
ably mean a night in the guard-house, his gun in 
some other man’s hands, probably lost forever, and 
so on. He decided to defer thrashing the Sergeant 
until his return, when he would give it to him with 
interest. He shouldered his gun, paced up and 
down, watching with watering mouth the rest lux- 
uriating in a hot supper with fragrant coffee and 
appetizing viands, to which his mouth had been a 
stranger for many long months. It cost a severe 
struggle, but he triumphed. 

Si, in his own hungry eagerness, had not missed 
him, until his own appetite began to be appeased 
by the vigorous onslaught he made on the eatables. 
Then he looked around for his partner, and was 
horrified not to find him by his side. . 

“Where’s Shorty,” he anxiously inquired. 

Each looked at the other in surprise, and asked: 

“Why, ain’t he here?” 

“No, confound it; he ain’t here,” said Si, excitedly 
springing to his feet; “he has been knocked down 
and robbed.” 

Si bolted out, followed by the rest. They saw 
Shorty marching up and down as a sentinel sternly 
military, and holding his Springfield as rigidly cor- 
rect as if in front of the Colonel’s quarters. 

“What’s the matter with you. Shorty? Why don’t 
you come in to supper?” called out Si. “It’s a 
mighty good square meal. Come on in.” 

“Can’t do it. Don’t want no supper. Ain’t 
hungry. Got business out here,” answered Shorter, 


156 


SI KLEGG. 


who had gotten one of his rare fits of considering 
himself a martyr. 

‘'Nonsense/' said Si. “Put your gun in the stack 
and come in. It's a bully supper. Best we've had 
for a year." 

“Well, eat it, then," answered Shorty crustily. 
“I've got something more important to think of than 
good suppers." 

“0, rats! It's as safe in there as out here. Set 
your gun down and come on in." 

“This gun shall not leave my side till we're home," 
said Shorty in a tone that would have become the 
Koman sentinel at Pompeii. 

“0, I forgot," said Si. “Well, bring it in with 
you." 

“Can't do it. Strictly agin orders to take any 
guns inside. But leave me alone. Go back and fin- 
ish your gorge. I kin manage to hold out somehow," 
answered Shorty in a tone of deep resignation that 
made Si want to box his ears. 

“That's too bad. But I'll tell you what we can 
do. I've had a purty good feed already — enough to 
last me to Looeyville. Let me take your gun. I'll 
carry it while you go in and fill up. We hain't much 
time left." 

The fragrance of the coffee, the smell of the fried 
ham smote Shorty's olfactories with almost irresist- 
ible force. He wavered just a little. 

“Si, I'd trust you as I would no other man in Co. 
Q or the regiment. I'll" 

Then his Spartan virtue reasserted itself : 

“No, Si ; you're too young and skittish. You mean 
well, but you have spells, when" 


SI AND SHORTY IN LUCK. 


157 


“Fall in, men,"’ said Lieut. Bowersox, bustling out 
from a good meal in the officers’ room. “Fall in 
promptly. We must hurry up to catch the Looey- 
ville train.” 

The car for Louisville was filled with characters 
as to whom there was entirely too much ground for 
fear — gamblers, “skin-game” men, thieves, and all 
the human vermin that hang around the rear of a 
great army. Neither of the boys allowed themselves 
a wink of sleep, but sat bolt upright the entire 
night, watching everyone with steady, stern eyes. 
They recognized all the rascals they had seen “run- 
ning games” around the camps at Murfreesboro, and 
who had been time and again chased out of camp — 
even the whisky seller with whom Si’s father had 
the adventure. The Provost-Guard had been mak- 
ing one of its periodical cleaning-ups of Nashville, 
and driving out the obnoxious characters. Sev- 
eral of these had tried to renew their acquaintance 
by offering drinks from well-filled bottles, but they 
were sternly repulsed, and Shorty quietly knocked 
one persistent fellow down with a quick whirl of 
his gun-barrel. When Shorty was hungry it was 
dangerous to trfle with him. 

They arrived at Louisville late in the morning, 
and were hurried across the river to Jeffersonville. 
Fortunately they were able to find there an eating- 
room where guns were not barred, and Shorty made 
amends for the past by ravaging as far as his arms 
could reach, holding his precious gun firmly between 
his knees. 

“Say, pardner,” said the man who ran the estab- 
lishment, “I’d much rather board you for a day than 


158 


SI KLEGG. 


a week. Rebels must’ve cut off the supply-trains 
where you’ve bin. You’re not cornin’ this way agin 
soon, air you ? I’m afraid I won’t make ’nough this 
month to pay my rent.” 

Lieut. Bowersox came in with a telegram in his 
hand. 

'‘We won’t go on to Indianapolis,” he said. “I’m 
ordered to wait here for our squad, which will prob- 
ably get here by to-morrow evening.” 

A wild hope flashed up in Si’s mind. 

“Lieutenant,” he said, “we live right over there 
in Posey County. Can’t you let us go home? We 
can make it, and be back here before to-morrow 
night.” 

“I don’t know,” said the Lieutenant doubtfully, as 
he mentally calculated the distance to Posey County. 
“I hadn’t ought to let you go. Then, you can’t 
have more than an hour or two at home.” 

“0, goodness; just think o’ havin’ one hour at 
home,” ejaculated Si. 

“It seems too bad,” continued the Lieutenant, 
moved by Si’s earnestness, “to bring you this near, 
and not let you have a chance to see your folks. 
It’ll be a risk for me, and there are not many men 

the regiment I’d take it for, but I’ll let you go. 
lemember, it’ll make a whole lot of trouble for me 
f you’re not here by to-morrow evening.” 

“We’ll be here by to-morrow evening, if alive,” 
^i pledged himself. 

‘Well, then, go,” said the Lieutenant. 

Si’s head fairly swam, and he and Shorty ran so 
^ast to make sure of the train that there was a sus- 


SI AND SHORTY IN LUCK. 


159 


picion in the minds of some of the citizens that they 
were escaping from their officers. 

Si’s heart was in a tumult as the engine-bell rang 
its final warning and the engine moved out with 
increasing speed. Every roll of the swift wheels 



'‘FATHER, there’s A COUPLE OF SOLDIERS OUT THERE.” 

was carrying him nearer the dearest ones on earth. 
The landscape seemed to smile at him as he sped 
past. 

“Isn’t this the grandest country on earth, 
Shorty?” he bubbled over. “It’s God’s country for 


160 


SI KLEGG. 


a fact. So different from old run-down, rebel-rid- 
den Tennessee. Look at the houses and the farms; 
look at the people and the live-stock. Look at the 
towns and the churches. Look at everything. 
Here’s the country where people live. Down yon- 
der’s only where they stay and raise Cain.” 

“Yes,” admitted Shorty, who had not so much 
reason for being enthusiastic; “but the Wisconsin 
boys say that Wisconsin’s as much finer than In- 
jianny as Injianny’s finer’n Tennessee. I’ll take you 
up there some day and show you.” 

“Don’t believe a dumbed word of it,” said Si, hot 
with State pride. “God never made a finer country 
than Injianny. Wisconsin’s nowhere.” 

Then he bethought himself of the many reasons 
he had for gladness in his home-coming which his 
partner had not, and said thoughtfully: 

“I wish. Shorty, you wuz goin’ home, too, to your 
father and mother and sisters, and — and — best girl. 
But my father and mother’ll be as glad to see you as 
if you was their own son, and the girls’ll make just 
as much of you, and mebbe you’ll find another girl 
there that’s purtier and better, and” 

“Stop right there. Si Klegg,” said Shorty. “All 
girls is purty and nice — that is, them that is purty 
and nice, but some’s purtier and nicer than others. 
Then, agin, one’s a hundred times purtier and 
nicer than any o’ them. I’ve no doubt that the 
girls out your way are much purtier and nicer’n 
the general run o’ girls, but none o’ them kin hold a 
candle to that girl up in Wisconsin, and I won’t have 
you sayin’ so.” 

“If we’re on time,” said Si, by way of changing 


SI AND SHORTY IN LUCK. 


161 


the subject, ^Ve’ll git to the station about sundown. 
The farm’s about three miles from the station, and 
we’ll reach home after supper. Pap’ll be settin’ 
out on the front jlbrch, smokin’, and readin’ the 
Cincinnati Gazette, and mother’ll be settin’ beside 
him knittin’, and the girls’ll be clearin’ away the 
supper things. My, won’t they be surprised to see 
us ! Won’t there be a time! And won’t mother and 
the girls fly around to git us something to eat! 
Won’t they shake up that old cook-stove, and grind 
coffee, and fry ham and eggs, and bake biscuits, 
. and git us cool, sweet milk and delicious butter from 
the old spring-house, and talk all the time! Shorty, 
you never heard my sisters talk, especially when 
they’re a little excited. Gracious, they’ll just talk 
the ears off both of us.” 

“Well, if they take after you, they are talkers 
from Talkville,” said Shorty. “Mill-wheels ain’t in 
it with your tongue, when it gits fairly started.” 

The train was on time, and just as the sun was 
setting behind the fringe of cottonwoods along Bean 
Blossom Creek they stopped at the little station, 
and started to walk out to the farm. A neighbor 
who was drawing a load of tile from the station 
recognized Si, and begged them to get up and ride, 
but the team was too slow for the impatient boys, 
and they forged ahead. A thousand well-remem- 
bered objects along the road would have arrested 
Si’s attention were it not for the supreme interest 
farther on. At last they came to a little rise of 
ground which commanded a view of the house, and 
there, as Si predicted, sat his father and mother en- 
gaged in smoking, reading and knitting. His first 


162 


SI KLEGG. 


impulse was to yell with delight, but he restrained 
himself, and walked as steadily on as he could to 
the front gate. Old Towser set up a bark and ran 
down the walk, and then changed his note to de- 
lightful yelps of recognition. Si was so nervous that 
he fumbled vainly for a minute at the gate-latch, 
and while he did so he heard his mother say: 

‘'Father, there's a couple o’ soldiers out there.” 

“Wonder if they kin be from Si’s company,” said 
the father, lowering his paper, and looking over his 
spectacles. 

“Why, it’s Si himself,” screamed the mother in . 
joyful accents. The next instant she had sped down 
the walk quicker than she had ever gone in her 
girlhood days, her arms about his neck, and she 
was crying on his shoulder. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


MANY HAPPY EVENTS — HOURS THAT WERE ALL-TOO- 
FEW AND ALL-TOO-SHORT. 

T he girls heard their mother’s happy scream 
and rushed out, dish towels in hand. They 
at once realized what had happened, piped 
up their joyous altos, and precipitated themselves 
upon Si. The good old Deacon came trotting down 
the walk, fidgeting with his spectacles, but so en- 
veloped was his son with skirts and women’s arms 
and happy, teary faces that he could not get within 
arm’s length of him. So he turned to Shorty : 

‘'Great day. Shorty, but I’m glad to see you! 
Come right up on the steps and set down. How’d 
you happen to come home. Either of you sick or 
wounded ?” 

“Nope,” answered Shorty sententiously. “Both 
sound as nuts and healthy as mules.” 

“Well, come right up on the porch and set down. 
You must be awful tired. Le’me carry your gun 
and things for you.” 

He took hold of the gun with such a desire to do 
something that Shorty was fain to yield it, saying: 

“Deacon, you are the first man in about a million 
betwixt here and the Tennessee River that I’d let 
tech that gun. I don’t know now of another man in 
the United States that I’d trust it with. That ’ere 
gun is loaded plum full of other folks’s money.” 


164 


SI KLEGG. 


‘'Goodness, is that so?’’ said the Deacon, handling 
the musket with increased respect. “I’ve heard o’ 
a bar’l o’ money, but never supposed that it was a 
gun bar’l.” 

“And more’n that,” continued Shorty, “there’s a 
full-grown cartridge below that might shoot a war 
widow’s new dress and shoes for the children off 
into the moon.” 

“Goodness gracious!” ejaculated theT)eacon, hold- 
ing out the gun as he did Si the first time that in- 
teresting infant was placed in his hands, “handlin’ 
other people’s money’s always ticklish business, but 
this’s a leetle the ticklishest I ever heard of.” 

“That’s what bin wearin’ me down to the bone,” 
responded Shorty soberly, and as they reached the 
porch he explained the situation to the Deacon, who 
took the gun in the house, and laid it carefully on a 
bed in the “spare room.” 

“Girls, you’re smotherin’ me I Let up, won’t you ? 
Mandy, you dabbed that wet dishcloth right in my 
eye then. Maria, I can’t talk or even breathe with 
your arm over my windpipe. You, dear mother, 
I’ll pick you up and carry you into the house, if 
you’ll let me,” Si was trying to say. “I can’t an- 
swer all your questions at once, ’specially when 
you’re shuttin’ off my breath an’ dinnin’ my ears 
till I can’t hear myself think.” 

“Le’s carry your things up. Si,” said Maria, after 
Si had gotten them calmed down a little. “You must 
be awful tired.” 

Si saw that this would be the best way to keep 
the girls off, while he devoted his attention to his 
mother. He handed his gun and belt to Maria, who 


MANY HAPPY EVENTS. 


165 


inarched on ahead, triumphantly waving her dish- 
towel as a gonfalon of victory, while she cheered 
for the Union in her sweet contralto. Mandy took 
possession of his blanket roll and haversack, while 



^'the first wad came out easily and all right.'' 


Si almost carried his tearful mother on to the porch. 
There her housewifely instinct at once asserted it- 
self. 

'T know you and your friend there must jest be 
starvin'/' she said, gathering herself up. 'T never 



166 


SI KLEGG. 


knowed when you wasn’t, if you’d bin an hour from 
the table.” 

“Shorty’s worse’n me,” said Si with a grin. “But 
I haven’t interduced him yit. Mother, girls, this 
is Shorty, my pardner, and the best pardner a feller 
ever had.” 

“Glad to know you, Mr. Shorty,” said they, shak- 
ing his hand. “We’ve heard so much of you that we 
feel that we’ve knowed you all along.” 

“Drop the Mister, then,” said Shorty. “I’m plain 
Shorty to everybody until I’m out o’ the army. I’ve 
heard so much of you that I feel, too, that I’ve bin 
acquainted with you all my life.” 

“Girls,” commanded the mother, “come on and 
let’s git the boys something to eat.” 

“No, mother,” pleaded Si, holding fast to her 
hand. “Let the girls do it. I want you to sit here 
and talk to me.” 

“No, Si,” answered the mother, kissing him again, 
and releasing her hand, “I must do it myself. I 
must cook your supper for you. The girls won’t 
do it half well enough.” 

She hustled away to the kitchen, and Si and 
Shorty explained to the Deacon the circumstances of 
their visit, and that they must leave by the next 
train going east, in order to keep their promise to 
Lieut. Bowersox. The Deacon immediately started 
Abraham Lincoln and the boy on saddle horses 
to bring in the neighbors to see the boys, and get 
the money that had been sent them. They went 
into an inner room, carefully blinded the windows, 
and began to draw out the money from various 


MANY HAPPY EVENTS. 


167 


pockets, cartridge-boxes, and other receptacles about 
their persons. 

All drew a long breath of relief when, counting 
that in Shorty’s gun, every dollar was found to 
be safe. 

“But how in time you’re ever goin’ to git that 
money out o’ that gun beats me,” said the Deacon, 
picking up the musket, and gazing dubiously into 
the muzzle. “It was a mighty smart thing to do 
down at the front, but what are you going to do 
now, when you want to give the money to the people 
it belongs to?” 

“It certainly don’t seem as smart as it did that 
night on the banks o’ the Tennessee,” Shorty ad- 
mitted as he fixed his bullet screw on the end of 
his rammer, “but I’m goin’ to trust to my own smart- 
ness and the Providence that provides for war 
widows and orphans to git out every dollar in good 
shape for them it was intended for.” 

The bullet-screw brought out the first “wad” 
easily and all right. 

“Well, Providence is lookin’ out for Jim Irvin’s 
wife and children all right,” said Shorty, as they 
smoothed out the bills and found them intact. 

The next attmept was equally successful, and as 
Shorty unrolled the bills he remarked: 

“Providence is again overlookin’. There’s Jim 
Beardslee’s $50 for his widowed mother.” 

“And she needs it, poor woman,” said the Deacon. 
“I’ve seen that she had all the meat and wood she’s 
needed since Jim enlisted, and Deacon Flagler keeps 
her in flour.” 

The next offered more difficulty. The rammings 


168 


SI KLEGG. 


on those above had compacted it pretty solidly. The 
bullet screw cut off bits of it, and when finally it 
was gotten out the $10 bill was in pieces. 

“That’s Alf Ellerby’s gift to his lame sister,” said 
Shorty, as he ruefully surveyed the fragments. “I’m 
afraid Providence wasn’t mindin’ just then, but I’ll 
give her a good bill out o’ my own pocket.” 

“No, you needn’t,” said Maria, who had slipped 
in, fork in hand, to pinch Si, kiss him, and ask him 
a question which she did not want Mandy to hear; 
“I kin paste that all together with white of egg so’s 
it’ll look as good as ever. I done that with a bill 
that Towser snatched out o’ my hand and chawed 
before I could git it away from him. The store- 
keeper took it and said it was just as good as any. 
Sophy Ellerby ’d rather have it that way than a 
new bill, so long’s it comes direct from Alf.” 

Again Shorty sent down the bullet screw, and 
again there was more tearing off of bits, and finally 
a mangled $20 bill was dragged forth and laid aside 
for Mandy to repair. “Ike Englehardt sent that 
to his mother to help take his sister through the 
Normal School, so’s she kin become a teacher. She’ll 
git that all right. But I’ve broken my bullet screw 
in that wrastle. It snapped clean off, and I’ve got 
the worst job of all now — to get out $100 in two 
50’s that Abe Trelawney sent his mother to meet 
that mortgage on her little house. Abe’s bin savin’ 
it up for months, and I was more anxious about it 
than any other, and so I put it down first. Si, let 
me have your bullet-screw.” 

“Hain’t got none. Lost mine weeks ago, while we 
was on the Tullahomy march.” 


MANY HAPPY EVENTS. 


169 


'‘Great Jehosephat! what am I goin^ to do?'' 
groaned Shorty, the sweat starting out on his fore- 
head. “Now's the time for Providence to help out, 
if He’s goin’ to. I'm at the end o' my string." 

“Supper's ready, boys ; come on in,” announced the 
sweet, motherly voice of Mrs. Klegg. She seconded 
her invitation with her arm around Si and a kiss on 
his cheek. “Father, bring Shorty, unless he'd rather 
walk with the girls." 

Shorty was altogether too bashful to take advan- 
tage of the direct hint. Si’s lively sisters filled him 
with a nervous dread of his social shortcomings. He 
grew very red in the face, hung back from them, 
and caught hold of the Deacon’s arm. 

“Go slow with him, girls," whispered the Deacon 
to his daughters, after they were seated at the table. 
“He's a mighty good boy, but he ain't used to girls." 

“He's rather good looking, if he does act sheep- 
ish,” returned Mandy. 

“Well, he ain’t a mite sheepish when there’s seri- 
ous business on hand," returned the father. “And 
next to ourselves, he’s the best friend your brother 
has." 

It had been many years since the wandering, 
rough-living Shorty had sat down to such an invit- 
ing, well-ordered table. Probably he never had. No 
people in the whole world live better than the pros- 
perous Indiana farmers, and Mrs. Klegg was known 
far and wide for her housewifely talents. The 
snowy table linen, the spotless dishes, the tastefully- 
prepared food would have done credit to a royal ban- 
quet. Hungry as he was, the abashed Shorty fidget- 
ed in his chair, and watched Si begin before he 


170 


SI KLEGG. 


ventured to make an attack. The mother and girls 
were too busy plying Si with questions and anticipat- 
ing his wants to notice Shorty's embarrassment. 

Si was making a heroic effort to eat everything in 
sight, to properly appreciate all the toothsome things 
that loving hands were pressing upon him, and to 
answer the myriad of questions that were showered 
upon him, and to get in a few questions of his own 
at the same time. He just found time to ask Shorty : 

“Say, this is great — ^this 's like livin’, ain’t it?” 

-And Shorty replied with deep feeling: 

“Just out o’ sight. How in the world’d you ever 
come to enlist and leave all this?” 

The neighbors began gathering in — fathers, 
mothers and sisters of members of Co. Q, all full of 
eager questions as to their kindred, and this relieved 
Shorty, for he could tell them quite as well as Si. 

The supper ended, the problem of the money in 
the gun again loomed up. Everyone had an opinion 
as to how to extricate the valuable charge. The 
women, of course, suggested hair-pins, but these 
were tried without success. A gimlet taken from 
its handle'and secured to the ramrod, refused to take 
hold. 

Somebody suggested shooting the gun across a 
pond of water, and getting the money that way, but 
it was decided that the force of the Springfield 
seemed too great for any body of water in the 
neighborhood. Then Jabe Clemmons, the “specula- 
tive” genius of the neighborhood, spoke up: 

“Gentlemen, I’ve an idee. Deacon, how much is 
in that small haystack of your’n?” 

“ ’Bout 10 tons,” answered the Deacon. 


MANY HAPPY EVENTS. 


171 


‘'Jest about. Well, I’ll pay you the regular mar- 
ket price for it, and give $100 to Miss Trelawney. 
Now, let this gentleman stand 50 feet from it and 
shoot his gun at it. He mustn’t tell none of us 
where he aims at. I’ll sell you, gentlemen, that hay 
in 40 quarter-ton lots, commencing at the top, each 
man to pay $2 besides the regular price for a quar- 
ter ton o’ hay, an’ we’ll draw numbers as to our 
turns in takin’ the fodder.” 

“Looks somethin’ like gamblin’,” demurred the 
Deacon. 

“No more’n church lotteries,” answered Jabe, 
“since it’s for a good purpose. Now, gentlemen, 
who wants to buy a quarter ton of Deacon Klegg’s 
first-class hay?” 

At once he had replies enough to take the whole 
stack, but while he was writing down the names 
Deacon Klegg had another idea. 

“I can’t quite git my mind reconciled to gamblin’, 
even for a good purpose,” he said. “And I ain’t sure 
about how the two 50’s ’ll strike the haystack. It’d 
be a sin if they were destroyed, as they are likely 
to be. I’ve another idee. My well there is 25 foot 
deep. Let’s take the bucket out, and let Shorty shoot 
his gun straight down into the well. I believe the 
money’ll come out all right. If it don’t I’ll make it 
up myself, rather than be a party to a gamble.” 

“May blow the bottom o’ your old well out,” 
muttered Jabe Clemmons, who dearly loved anything 
in the shape of a game of hazard. 

“I’ll resk that,” said the Deacon. “I kin dig an- 
other well, if necessary.” 

The Deacon’s proposal was carried. Shorty, 


172 


SI KLEGG. 


holding the butt of his gun carefully upright, fired 
down into the well. A boy was lowered in the 
bucket, and soon announced by a joyful cry that 
he had gotten the bills. Upon being brought up 
and examined they were found to be uninjured, ex- 
cept by a slight singeing at the edges. 

“Providence's agin managin' things," murmured 
Shorty gratefully ; “but the Deacon's gumption 
helped out." 

All the money for those not present to receive it 
in person was turned over to the Deacon, and then 
for the first time the boys felt relieved of a great 
responsibility. 

“There are two trains goin' east," said the Deacon, 
in response to their inquiries as to the facilities for 
returning. “The through express passes here at 
3:15, and it'll git you to Jeffersonville early in the 
morning. The accommodation passed about day- 
break, and it'll git you there in the evenin', if it 
makes connections, which it often doesn't." 

“We must go on the through express," said Si 
firmly. There was a loud outcry by the mother and 
sisters, but the father recognized the demands of 
military discipline. 

Si began to fidget to get away from the crowd of 
eager inquirers, which Mandy noticing, she found 
opportunity to whisper : 

“Don't fret. She'll be here presently." 

Si's face burned. He had thought his secret well- 
kept, but here his sisters read his thoughts like an 
open book. He had wanted to go to Annabel, and 
have a few golden minutes alone with her. Just 
what for — ^just what he would say or do he did not 


MANY HAPPY EVENTS. 


173 


in the least know — he could not imagine. Only he 
felt that in some way the main interest of his life 
depended on seeing her somewhere remote from 
curious eyes and listening ears. He wanted to go 


''Annabel, how purty you look.'' 



to her, not to have her come to him, and meet him 
in such a throng as was gathered at his home. 

While these thoughts were coursing through his 
mind he heard Maria call: 


174 


SI KLEGG. 


'‘Si, come here into my room. I want to show 
you the purtiest thing you ever saw.” 

While Mandy was a most correct young woman, 
she could not withstand giving a significant wink 
to those around, to which they responded with know- 
ing smiles. These, fortunately. Si did not see. He 
arose at once, the people made way, and he was 
led by Maria to her room. She opened the door 
and said: 

"There, now, kiss me for a loving sister.” 

It was a fervent kiss that Si rewarded her with, 
for, there, rising from her chair as the door opened, 
dressed in her best, and her face wreathed with 
smiles and blushes, stood Annabel. 

"Since you are so mean about goin’ away so soon, 
you can only have 10 minutes together; make the 
most of it,” laughed Maria, and she scudded back to 
the sitting-room. 

Si stood for an instant dazed. How beautiful she 
was — far more so than his recollections had painted 
her. She had blossomed out from the school-girl 
into the mature woman, and every feature ripened. 
Fair as his home seemed in contrast with the coun- 
try he had left, she seemed still fairer in contrast 
with any woman he had ever seen. Where were the 
thousand things that, brooding by the campfire and 
lying in his tent, he thought over to say to her when 
they met? All forgotten or dismissed as inappropri- 
ate. He simply stood and gazed at her. She re- 
covered herself first, and said teasingly: 

' "Well, how do you do? Ain't you going to speak? 
Ain't you glad to see me?” 

Si could only step forward and take her hand, and 
murmur : 


MANY HAPPY EVENTS. 


175 


^‘Annabel, how purty you look. How youVe 
growed, and all purtier. Fm awfully glad to see 
you. That’s what I most wanted to come home for.” 

Then his face burned with new blushes to think 
how much he had said. They sat down, he still 
holding her hand, with his eyes fixed upon her face. 
Somehow, in the mysterious telegraphy of first love, 
they so fully understood one another that words 
were unnecessary. 

Speechless, but fuller of happiness than they ever 
dreamed was possible in the world, they sat with 
clasped hands until Maria came back, calling out: 

“Time’s up. The folks say that they can’t let 
Annabel have you any longer. Come into the sit- 
ting-room, both of you. Come along. Si. Come 
along, Annabel.” 

Si rose obediently, but Annabel declined to go. 
She did not say why, but Maria, with a woman’s 
instincts, knew that she wanted to be alone to think 
it all over. Maria therefore hurried back. 

“Good-by, Annabel,” he said, pressing her hand 
again. “Fll write to you first thing when I git 
back.” 

“Good-by, Si. God keep you for me, safe through 
battles and dangers.” 

She turned away to hide her bursting tears. 

It was astonishing how quick midnight came. 
When the clock striking 12 smote the ears of the 
family, nobody had said, heard or asked one tithe 
of what he or she was burning eager to, yet the 
parting was but a little more than two brief hours 
away. 

With a heart heavier even than when she parted 


176 


SI KLEGG. 


from her boy for the first time, Mrs. Klegg arose, 
and sought to distract her thoughts by collecting as 
big a package as they could carry of the choicest 
eatables. How often she stopped to cry softly into 
her apron not even the girls knew, for she ,was re- 
solved to keep up a brave front, especially before Si, 
and would carefully wash all traces of tears from 
her face, and clear the sobs from fier throat before 
re-entering the room where he was. 

Shorty had at once been taken to the hearts of 
everyone, and all the older men urged him to ‘‘come 
back here as soon as the war’s over, marry a nice 
girl, and settle down among us.” 

Si received many compliments upon his develop- 
ment into such a fine, stalwart man. 

One after another said: 

“Si, what a fine, big man you’ve growed into. I 
declare, you’re a credit to your father and mother 
and the settlement. We all expect you to come back 
a Captain or a Colonel, and we’ll run you for 
Sheriff oy County Commissioner, or something as 
big.” 

“0, anything but Treasurer,” Si would laughingly 
reply. “I’ve had enough handling other folks’ money 
to last me my life.” 

Presently Abraham Lincoln brought the spring 
wagon around. Even in the moonlight Si could see 
that freedom and the Deacon’s tuition had developed 
the ex-slave into a much better man than the wretch- 
ed runaway whom his father had protected. He 
wanted to know more of him, but there were too 
many demands upon his attention. They all mount- 
ed into the wagon, the bundles were piled in, one 


MANY HAPPY EVENTS. 


177 


last embrace from his mother, and they drove away, 
reaching the station just in time to catch the train. 
As he kissed Maria good-by she shoved a letter into 
his hand, saying: 

‘This is from Annabel. Read it after you git on.'' 

As the train whirled away Si made an excuse to 
go away from Shorty, and standing up under the 
lamp in the next car he read on a tear-stained sheet : 

“Deer Si: I wanted so much to tel you, but the 
words wooddent come to my lips, that Ime yours til 
deth, no matter what happens, and Ime shure you 
feel the saim way. Annabel." 

Coming back with his heart in a tumult of rap- 
ture, he found his partner fast asleep and even 
snoring. 




7 


CHAPTER XIV. 


THE FRISKY YOUNGSTERS — TRYING TO LICK A BATCH 
OF RECRUITS INTO SHAPE. 

F or awhile the tumult of thought kept Si 
awake, but he was too young, healthy, and 
tired for this to last long, and soon he had 
his head pillowed on his blanket-roll, placed in the 
open car-window, and was sleeping too sound to even 
dream of Annabel, while the rushing train pelted 
his face with cinders from the engine and a hail 
of gravel from the road-bed. But what was that to 
a soldier-boy who had been home, seen his best girl, 
and had one of his mother’s square meals ? 

When the train rolled into Jeffersonville in the 
afternoon, they saw Lieut. Bowersox on the plat- 
form anxiously waiting for them. His face lighted 
up with pleasure when he saw them, and eagerly 
coming forward he said: 

“Great Cesar, boys, but I’m glad you’ve come. 
I’ve been waiting for you all day. Rush orders 
came last night to send everybody to the front. I 
guess they are in need of every gun they can get. 
I should have gone last night, but I managed to 
stave off my orders till now. If you hadn’t come 
on this train, though, I should ’ve had to go on with- 
out you. Hurry along, now. We are going right 
across the river.” 

Despite the Lieutenant’s urgency. Si found time 


THE FRISKY YOUNGSTERS. 


179 


to hand him a jar of honey and a small crock of 
butter from their home supplies, which he received 
with proper appreciation, and handed over to the 
grinning negro boy he had picked up somewhere in 
Tennessee for a servant. They followed the Lieuten- 
ant to where he had his squad of about 100 recruits 
gathered. He said : 

'‘Here, Klegg, you will act as Orderly-Sergeant, 
and Shorty and the rest of you as Sergeants of this 
detachment. Here is the list of them, Klegg. Make 
up a roll and call it whenever I order you to do so.'' 

Si took the list and looked over the crowd. They 
were mainly boys of about the same age and style 
as himself when he first enlisted, but he thought 
he had never seen so green, gawky a lot in the world. 
Like him then, every one was weighted down with 
a bundle of things that would evidently be con- 
tributed to the well-being of the people along the 
line of march. 

It seemed to him that they stood around the plat- 
form in as ugly crookedness as a lodgment of drift- 
wood on a Wabash bottom after a freshet. 

"Where on the Wea prairies," muttered Shorty, 
"did Old Abe pick up that job lot o' wind shaken, 
lopsided saplings? Must've bin pulled when green 
and warped in the dryin'." 

"Well, we've got to git 'em into some sort o' 
shape," answered Si. "You must help." 

"I help?" returned Shorty despairingly. "You'll 
need a West Point perfessor and a hay-press to git 
that crowd into soldier shape. I ain’t once." 

"Here, Sergeant," ordered Lieut. Bowersox, "line 
the men up, count them, learn their names, and 


180 


SI KLEGG. 


give them a little preliminary drill, while I go to 
Headquarters and see the Colonel again about our 
transportation.’’ 

'Tall in, boys; fall in,” commanded Si. 

The crowd looked at him curiously. They knew 
that he wanted them to do something, they were will- 
ing to do it, but they hadn’t the slightest idea what 
it was. They made a move by huddling up a little 
toward him. 

“Fall in in two ranks, with the right here,” shout- 
ed Si. 

There was more inconsequent huddling, which 
seemed so purposely awkward that it irritated Si, 
and he spoke sharply: , 

“Gosh all Krismuss, what’s the matter with you 
lunkheads? Don’t you know nothing? You’re 
dummer’n a lot o’ steers.” 

“Guess we know ’bout as much as you did when 
you first enlisted,” said the smallest of the lot, a 
red-cheeked, bright-eyed boy, who looked as if he 
should have been standing up before a blackboard 
“doing a sum” in long division, instead of on his 
way to the field of strife. “Show us how, and we’ll 
learn as quick as you did.” 

Si looked at the fresh young boy. There was 
something actually girlish in his face, and it remind- 
ed him of Annabel. His heart softened toward him 
at once, and he remembered his own early troubles. 
He said gently to the boy: 

“You’re right. What’s your name, my boy?” 

“Abel Waite.” 

“Well, Abel, we’ll make a soldier out of you in a 
little while. You are the smallest; you’ll be the 


THE FRISKY YOUNGSTERS. 


181 


left of the line. Go and stand there at the corner. 
Now, boys, all lay your bundles down. Here, you 
tall fellow, what’s your name?” 

'‘James Bradshaw.” 

"Well, Bradshaw, you’ll be the right of the line 
all the time, and the rest ’ll form on you. Come, 
stand here.” 

Bradshaw shambled forward in a way that made 
Shorty call out: 

"Here', Bradshaw, wake up ! You ain’t now foller- 
in’ a plow over the last year’s corn-furrers. 
Straighten up, lift them mud-hooks livelier and drop 
your hands to your side.” 

The man stopped, raised his hands, and looked 
at Shorty with his mouth wide open. 

"Come, Bradshaw,” said Si gently, taking hold of 
him, "I’ll show you. Now you stand right here. 
Put your heels together. Now turn your toes out. 
Throw your shoulders back this way. Close your 
mouth. Put your little fingers on the seams of your 
pantaloons that way. Now stand just so.” 

The poor man looked as miserable as if put in a 
strait- jacket, but tried to literally obey instructions. 

"Now, what’s your name?” Si asked the next tall- 
est man. 

"Simeon Wheelwright.” 

"Wheelwright, you stand behind Bradshaw, just 
as he does.” '' 

And so Si went painstakingly through the whole 
squad until he came to Abel Waite, whom he found 
did not need any instruction, for he had profited by 
hearing the lectures to the others, and was standing 
as stiff and correct as a veteran could have done. 


182 


SI KLEGG. 


“Great outfit,” remarked Shorty, walking down 
the line, gun in hand, and surveying it critically. 
“Looks like a mourners’ bench froze stiff. Here, 
you red-headed man there, take in that corporation. 
You won’t have so much bay window after you’ve 
lived on army rations awhile.” 

“Now,” commanded Si, “when I say ‘Count twos 
from the right,’ I want you to begin and count. The 
first man — you, Bradshaw — says ‘one,’ and the next 
man on your left says ‘two,’ and so on. ^he men 
in the rear rank do the same. Count twos from the 
right — Count !” 

“One, two; four, six; seven, nine; ten, ’leven,” 
shouted the boys, in all manner of tones and general 
bewilderment. 

“Stop it; stop it!” yelled Si, his temper again 
rising. “Great day, .can’t you fellers understand 
plain English when it’s talked to you? What’s the 
matter with you, anyway? Here, Bradshaw, when 
I give the order to count, you count one. Wheel- 
wright, you count one at the same time. Williams 
and Talbot, you each count two. Then Aldrich, 
you and Reynolds count one, and so on.” 

At last he got them to count to his satisfaction, 
and then proceeded to the next lesson. 

“Now, at the command ‘right face’ everybody face 
to the right. The No. 1 men in the front rank stand 
fast. The No. 1 men in the rear rank take a side 
step to the right. The No. 2 men each take a side 
step to the right, and places himself on the right 
of No. 1.” 

“Great Jehosephat, Si,” remonstrated Shorty ; 
“it’ll take ’em a month to learn all that.” 


THE FRISKY YOUNGSTERS. 


183 


“Don^t care if it does/' said Si desperately. 
“They’ve got to learn it sometime, and they can’t 
learn no younger. Might as well begin now as any 
time. ’Tention ! Right face !” 

Si had hard work restraining the angry words 
which fumed up when he saw the execution of his 
command. Only a few had turned to the right. 
The rest had either stood still, turned to the left 
or were turning first one way and then another, 
to adjust themselves to those nearest them. 

“Looks like a political primary just before the 
vote’s called,” remarked Shorty. “Better git red 
rags to tie around their right hands, so’s they’ll 
know ’em.” 

“It’ll be a shame to take them across the Ohio 
River in this shape,” said Si in deep vexation. 
“They’ll shoot one another’s heads off in the first 
fight, if they’ve guns in their hands.” 

“Don’t worry,” answered Shorty consolingly. 
“They’ll pick it up mighty fast as soon as they see 
other fellers doing it, and ’ll be in purty good shape 
by the time we git ’em to the regiment. We was 
just as green as they are.” 

Si repressed his petulant words with an effort, 
and started in to give them an ocular demonstra- 
tion of the way to execute “right face,” but was in- 
terrupted by the Lieutenant coming up and saying: 

“Here, we’ve got to move right out to catch the 
ferryboat and the train on the other side. ’Tention ! 
Pick up your bundles. Forward, march!” 

Tactics were forgotten in a go-as-you-please rush 
on to the ferryboat, through the streets of Louisville, 
and on to the cars for Nashville. Everybody else 


184 


SI KLEGG. 


was doing the same. The boat and streets were 
filled and the depot yard packed with men all push- 
ing forward for the ''front.'' While Si, walking 
alongside the Lieutenant, led. Shorty and the rest 
of the detail brought up the rear. After they had 
scrambled into the old freight cars and stowed them- 
selves away. Si looked over his squad and counted it. 

"Have you got them all aboard,- Sergeant?" in- 
quired Lieut. Bowersox. 

"I've got the right number, sir," Si answered, 
saluting; "and if they ain't all the same men they're 
just as good." 

"All right," returned the officer. "I had 103 put 
in my charge to take to the regiment, and 103 men 
I must have when I get there." 

"You shall have the full 103, Lieutenant," assured 
Shorty, "if we have to snatch in a native or two 
to take the place of some that fall through the 
cracks." 

At Nashville the crowd and confusion were exces- 
sive; detachments of men of all kinds, sorts and 
conditions — armed and unarmed — recruits, conva- 
lescent veterans, men coming back from furlough, 
stragglers under guard, squads of Quartermaster's 
employes, gangs of railroad laborers and bridge- 
builders were all surging around, while their officers, 
superintendents, foremen, etc., shouted themselves 
hoarse in trying to get their men together and keep 
them so. When Si at last got his men on board, and 
the train had moved out, he was dismayed to find 
that he was five short. 

"They was lost in that shufflle back there in the 


THE FRISKY YOUNGSTERS. 


185 


depot/’ said Shorty. “Lucky it wa’n’t more. Won- 
der that we ever got through as well as we did.” 

“What in the world am I going to do?” inquired 
Si dolefully. “There’s no use sending back for 
them. They’ve probably got mixed up with some 
other squads, and gone the Lord knows where. 
They haven’t sense enough to find their regiment in 
such a ruck as this.” 

Si counted his men over again, with no better re- 
sult. 

“I’ve got an idee,” said Shorty, as Si came up to 
commune again with him as to the misfortune. “I 
noticed five mighty lively young Irishmen in that 
bridge gang that’s on the rear car, and I’ve got a 
pint flash of whisky that some fellow was green 
enough to lay down while we was there in Nash- 
ville. I’m goin’ back to that car on recruitin’ duty.” 

Si, unable to think of anything better, went with 
him. The train had stopped on a switch, and seemed 
likely to rust fast to the rails, from the way other 
trains were going by in both directions. The bridge 
gang, under charge of a burly, red-faced young Eng- 
lishman, was in the rear car, with their tools, equip- 
ments, bedding and cooking utensils. 

The English foreman was a recent arrival in the 
country. This was his first employment here. Nat- 
urally surly and domineering, these qualities were 
enhanced by potations at Nashville and since leav- 
ing. 

Si and Shorty strolled up to the young Irishmen, 
who were standing on the ground near their car. 
They were very plainly recent arrivals, for they still 
wore the characteristic clothes of the Emerald Isle, 


186 


SI KLEGG. 


and after a little cofnversation with them Shorty pro- 
duced his bottle and offered them a drink. The fore- 



THE RECRUITS LINED UP ON THE PLATFORM. 


man had watched them suspiciously, and he came 
swaggering up, saying insolently: 

“ 'Ere, you bloomin' sojer. Hi want you to keep 
haway from my men, hand not be a-givin' them 


THE FRISKY YOUNGSTERS. 


187 


drink. You stay by yourselves, hand Hi won’t ’ave 
’em hinterfered wi’ by nobuddy.” 

‘‘Your men,” sneered Shorty. “You talk as if 
they was niggers, and not white men. Who made 
’em yours?” 

“Stow yer wid, ye bloody blue-jack,” returned the 
foreman contemptuously, “hand pull haway from 
here. Hi never could bear sojers — blokes, too lazy 
to work hand too cowardly to steal. Hike out o’ 
here, and shut you ’ead, hif you know w’at’s well 
for you.” 

“Shut up your own head, you British blowhard,” 
retorted Shorty, “and mind your own business. 
Wait until you are a little longer in the country be- 
fore you try to run it. And I don’t want no more o’ 
your slack. If you don’t keep a civil tongue in your 
head I’ll make you.” 

The Englishman was just in the mood to be sav- 
agely tickled at the prospect of a fight. He had not 
had a good, square one since he had been in the 
country, and nothing yet had offered so gratifying 
as the prospect of polishing off one of the despised 
“Hamerican sojers.” Several of the hated officers had 
strolled up, attracted by the high words, and it would 
be an additional pleasure to thrash one of their men 
before their eyes, in revenge for the slights he felt 
they had put upon him. 

“You won’t fight,” he said disdainfully, “except 
with a gun or a knife, like a bloody Dago. Ye 
dassent put up yer ’ands like a man.” 

For response. Shorty handed his cap, his gun, his 
bottle, his blanket-roll, his belt and haversack to 
Si, rolled up his sleeves, spit on his hands, doubled 


188 


SI KLEGG. 


his fists, and stepped forward into a boxing attitude. 

“Balance up to me, you beer-bloated Britisher,’' 
he exclaimed, “and git naturalized by a real Star- 
Spangled Banner lickin’ by an artist who kin comb 
down any man that owes allegiance to Queen Vic- 
toree. Here’s a Heenan for your Tom Sayers.” 

The Englishman began disrobing with an alacrity 
that showed how much his heart was in it.' A ring 
was speedily formed, the officers, mainly Lieutenants 
and Captains, eagerly assisting, while keeping their 
eyes over their shoulders to see that no one of much 
higher rank was in the neighborhood. 

When the men confronted one another it was seen 
that they were a fairly-good match. The English- 
man was stouter and heavier; he showed a splendid 
forearm, with corresponding swelling muscles near 
the shoulders, and the way he poised himself and 
put up his hands revealed that he had “science” as 
well as strength and courage. Shorty was taller and 
more spare, but he was quicker and had the longer 
reach. It looked as if the Englishman had the ad- 
vantage, from his solid strength and staying power, 
as well as “science.” But those who looked on 
Shorty as inferior did not know of the training he 
had received among the turbulent crews of the Mis- 
sissippi River boats. A man who had summered 
and wintered with that fractious race had little to 
learn in any trick or device of fighting. 

The first round showed that both were past-mas- 
ters of ring tactics. Their wardings and layings for 
openings were so perfect that neither could get a 
blow in. 


THE FRISKY YOUNGSTERS. 


189 


When they stopped for a moment to breathe the 
Englishman said with frank admiration: 

“Y’re a heap better lot than Hi thort yer. 
Where’d ye learn to handle yer dukes 

“Never mind where I learned,” answered Shorty. 
“I learned enough to git away with any English- 
man that ever chawed roast beef.” 

Again they closed, and sparred quick and hard for 
advantage, but neither succeeded in getting in any- 
thing but light, ineffective blows. Each realized 
that the other was a dangerous man to handle, and 
each kept cool and watched his chances. When they 
took another second to breathe the Englishman said : 

“I'm goin' to settle ye this time, young feller, in 
spite o' yer fibbin'. Ye peck around me like a cock 
pickin' up corn, but I'll bust ye. Look hout for yer- 
self.” 

He made a savage rush to break through Shorty's 
guard by main force, but Shorty evaded him by 
a quick movement, the Englishman struck his toe 
against a piece of railroad iron, and fell to his knees. 
Shorty had him at his mercy, but he merely stepped 
back a little further, and waited for his opponent 
to rise and regain his position before he again ad- 
vanced to the attack. 

The Englishman lost his coolness. Again he 
rushed savagely at Shorty, with less care in his 
guard. Shorty evaded his mighty blow, and reach- 
ing up under his guard struck him on the chin so 
hard that the Englishman fell like an ox. 

Shorty took him by the hand and helped him to 
his feet. “Do you want any more? Have you got 
enough?” he asked. 


190 


SI KLEGG. 


''Yes, Hi’ve got enough,'' answered the English- 
man. "I’m too groggy to go on. Hi've been drink- 
in' a bit too much to 'andle myself wi' a first-class 
man like yerself. Y've downed me, and y’ve downed 
me fair, for Hi’m not the man to whimper about 
not being fit. There's my hand. We’re friends. 
We’ll try hit again some day, when Hi've got the 
likker out o' me; won’t we?” 

"Certainly, whenever you like,” said Shorty, shak- 
ing hands with him. 

"Say, cul,” said the Englishman, in the friendliest 
sort of way, "w’at was ye wantin’ ^around among 
my men?” 

"To tell you the truth,” answered Shorty, "I was 
after them to enlist with us. We lost five men in 
the shuffle at Nashville, and I was lookin' out for 
some to take their places. 

"That’s w'at I thort,” said the Englishman. 
"That's w’at I was afraid of. The 'ead bridge man 
'as bin preachin’ to me ever since 'e 'ired me, hand 
we made hup the gang in New York, to look hout 
hand keep my men from bein' enlisted. Say, young- 
ster, his yours a good regiment?” 

"The very best in the army,” unhesitatingly as- 
serted Shorty. "All free-born American citizens, 
and high-toned gentlemen. I tell you, they're daisies, 
they are.” 

"Hi don't know,” said the Englishman medita- 
tively, "but Hi'd like to see a little bit o' fightin’ 
myself. Bridge buildin's 'eavy, 'ard work, and Hi 
wouldn' mind sojerin' a little while for a change.” 

"Come right along with me and this man,” said 
Shorty catching on. "You’ll see the purtiest fighting 


KEYED UP FOR ACTION. 


191 


to be found anywhere in the army, for the 200th 
Injianny kin do it up to the Queen’s taste. And we’ll 
treat you white. A better set o’ boys never lived.” 

“Hi’ll do hit,” said the Englishman decidedly. 

"^Mebbe,” suggested Shorty, remembering that this 
would still leave them four short, ''some o’ your 
gang’d like to come along with you.” 

"Some o’ them,” said the Englishman earnestly. 
"Hevery bloomin’ one o’ them ’as got to go. They’ve 
got to volunteer. Hif Hi find hany cowardly bloke 
that’d rather be a beastly bridge-builder than a gen- 
tleman and a sojer. I’ll pound ’is ’ead offen ’im. 
They’ll all volunteer, I tell ye, w’en Hi speak to ’em.” 

Si had been quietly talking to the rest of the gang 
while this conversation was going on, and discovered 
a general willingness to exchange mechanical pur- 
suits for those of a more martial character, and so 
when they left the train at Chattanooga, Lieut. Bow- 
ersox marched at the head of 130 recruits, instead 
of the 103 with whom he had crossed the Ohio River. 


CHAPTER XV. 


KEYED UP FOR ACTION — MARCHING INTO THE BATTLE 
OF CHICKAMAUGA. 

A ll of that eventful 19th of September, 1864, 
the men of Lieut. Bowersox’s detachment 
were keyed up with the knowledge that they 
were heading straight for a desperate battle, and the 
main fear with Si, Shorty and the great majority 
was that they would not reach the field in time to 
take a hand in the affray. It seemed that never 
ran a locomotive at such a snail’s pace as their en- 
gine was compelled to do over the wretched road- 
bed and improvised bridges. The engineer, stimu- 
lated by the excitement and the urgent messages 
at every station, was doing his very best, but his 
engine was ditched once and narrowly escaped it a 
hundred times. The only curb to their impatience 
was the absolute knowledge that an attempt at faster 
running would result in not getting there in time at 
all. 

At every stopping place news from the front was 
eagerly sought for and canvassed. It was at all 
times aggressively meager. All that could be learned 
was that the whole rebel army was out on the 
Chickamauga some miles from Chattanooga, and 
savagely attacking the Union army to drive it away 
and recapture the town. 

The news was generally very encouraging. Every 


KEYED UP FOR ACTION. 


193 


attack of the rebels had been repulsed, though our 
own loss had been heavy. But every man was need- 
ed. The rebel lines extended far beyond those of 
the Union army in each direction, and still they had 
enough for heavy assaulting columns. Everybody 
in the neighborhood of Chattanooga had been or- 
dered up, leaving only the meagerest possible guards 
for the trans and communications. 

This increased the burning impatience of the boys 
to get where they could be of service. But it was 
far into the night when they finally skirted the 
frowning palisades of Lookout Mountain, and went 
into bivouac on the banks of Chattanooga Creek. 
All of the squad wanted guns, and Si and Shorty 
had been desperately anxious to get them for them. 

At the stopping places were squads of guards, men 
more or less' sick, and men on detached duty. Where- 
ever Si or Shorty’s sharp search could find a gun 
not actually in use, or not likely to be, it was pretty 
sure, by some means or other, either openly or sur- 
reptitiously, to be gotten into the hands of one of the 
squad. In this way, by the time they arrived at 
Chattanooga, they had nearly half their men armed, 
and had given them some preliminary instruction 
in handling their guns. The Indianians needed little 
so far as loading and firing, for they were all nat- 
ural marksmen, but to the Englishman and his Irish 
squad the musket was a thing of mystery and dread. 

''An’ is that the goon for me?” said one of the 
Irishmen contemptuously, as Si proudly handed him 
a trusty Springfield he had found unwatched some- 
where. "That fool thing wid a bore no bigger’n a 
gimlet hole? Fwhy, out in the ould country, fwhen 


194 


SI KLEGG. 


we go man-hunting, we take a goon wid a mouth like 
a funnel, that ye can put a hat full av balls inter. 
To the divil wid such a goon as this.’’ 

‘Tix your mind on learnin’ the kinks o’ that 
gun, Barney,” advised Shorty. “One ball from it 
put in the right place ’ll do more than a hat full 
from your old Irish blunderbuss. A man that gits 
only one from it won’t need nothin’ more’n a head- 
stone and his name crossed offen the roster. Git a 
good squint at him through them sights, jest be- 
low his belt, hold stiddy while you pull the trigger, 
and his name ’ll be mud.” 

“But fwhere is the powdher to make the ball go?” 
persisted Barney, looking at the cartridge which 
Shorty had put in his hand. 

“The powder is behind the ball in that paper bag,” 
explained Shorty. “You tear the paper with your 
teeth this way, and pour the powder into the muzzle.” 

“Fhat,” said Barney contemptuously, surveying 
the cartridge. There isn’t enough powdher there to 
throw a ball as far as Oi can a pebble. Fwhy, Oi 
used to put a whole handful o’ powdher in the old 
blunderbuss. Oi wud do betther to whack a man 
wid a shillelah. And fwhere is the flint to strbike 
foire ?” 

“0, the flintlock’s played out, you flannel-mouthed 
Irishman,” said Shorty irritably. “It’s as out-of- 
date as a bow and arrer. This’s a percussion-lock; 
don’t you understand? This is a cap. You stick it 
right on this nipple, an’ when the hammer goes 
down off goes your gun. Don’t you see?” 

“Well, you can say, maybe, an’ maybe you can’t 
But Oi can’t. Take your old goon. Oi’ll none avit. 


KEYED UP FOR ACTION. 


195 


May the divil fly away wid it, an’ wid you, too. 
Oi’d rather have a good shtick. Wid a shtick in me 
flst Oi’ll take care of ony spalpeen fwhat’ll stand up 
in front av me. But wid a fool goon loike that 
Oi’d be kilt at wance.” 

While Si and Shorty were still worrying about 
what to do for arms for the remainder of their men, 
they heard what seemed to be about a company 
marching toward them through the darkness. 

‘‘I suppose we had better stop here and stack 
our arms out of the way,” they heard the officer 
say who seemed to be in command. “WeVe got an 
all-night’s job before us, fixing up that bridge, and 
getting those wagons across. Stack arms, boys, and 
leave your belts and traps with them. There’s lots 
of work down there for us.” 

They could see dimly the men obeying the orders, 
and going down the bank of the creek, where they 
started large fires to light them at their work. 

“They have got a job ahead of ’em,” remarked 
Shorty, looking in the direction of the fires. 

“It’ll take ’em all night and a large part o’ to- 
morrow,” said Si, significantly, as a thought entered 
his mind. 

“Indeed it will,” accorded Shorty, as the same idea 
occurred to him. “An’ they won’t need their guns. 
They’re only pioneers, anyway.” 

“If they do,” chimed in Si, “they kin pick up 
plenty more just as good around somewhere, when 
daylight comes. That’s what pioneers is for.” 

“Si, you ketch on like a he snappin’ turtle,” said 
Shorty joyfully. “We’ll jest help ourselves to them 
guns and cartridge-boxes, and then move our camp 


196 


SI KLEGG. 


over a little ways, and skeet out airly in the mornin’ 
for the front, and we’ll be all right. Don’t say 
nothin’ to the Lieutenant about it. He’ll be all right, 
and approve of it, but he mustn’t know anything of 
it officially. You git the men up and I’ll go over 
and give the Lieutenant the wink and tell him that 
we’ve found a much better bivouac about a mile 
further on.” 

While the pioneers were struggling with their 
task, and the air- down by the creek was filled with 
shouts and commands. Si and Shorty, with some of 
the others, quietly appropriated enough stands of 
arms to complete the equipment of their squad. 

Shorty took much credit for his honesty and for- 
bearance that he did not touch a single one of the 
pioneers’ belongings but their arms. A little later 
the squad was in bivouac a mile away. 

At the earliest dawn of Sept. 20 they were awake, 
and after a hasty breakfast moving out the Ross- 
ville road for the battlefield. Only an occasional 
shot from a nervous picket, peering into the deep 
fog, or angry spatter from a squad of scouting cav- 
alry disturbed the stillness of the beautiful Autumn 
morning. The bright rays of the level sun were 
bringing out the rich tints of the maples and dog- 
woods on the mountain-sides in all their gorgeous 
richness. Nature was smiling so benignantly on 
every side that it needed the turmoil and rush in 
the winding roads to remind one that somewhere 
near men were in bitter contrast with her divine 
serenity. But the roads were crowded with am- 
munition and ration wagons pushing out to the 
front, and with mounted officers and Orderlies mak- 


KEYED UP FOR ACTION. 


197 


ing their way as rapidly as possible back and for- 
ward with orders and messages. 

Lieut. Bowersox left the road with his detachment 
and made his way across the fields, over ditches, 



THEY POSTED THE MEN BEHIND THlJ TREES. 


ravines and creeks, through the thickets and the 
brush, and at last came out on top of Missionary 
Ridge at the north side of Rossville Gap. 

With eager eyes they scanned the landscape of 
billowy mountains and hills to the east and south. 


198 


SI KLEGG. 


A fog obscured all the lowlands, but far out columns 
of thin smoke rising lazily on the still air showed 
where 150,000 men were marshaling for bloody con- 
flict. 

“That Major I spoke to,” said Lieut. Bowersox, 
as Si and Shorty looked anxiously in his face, “is on 
the corps staff, and he says the whole infernal South- 
ern Confederacy is out there for blood. They 
jumped us yesterday like a pack of famished wolves. 
But Rosecrans had just got his army together in 
time, though some of the divisions had to march till 
their tongues were hanging out. All the boys were 
dead game, though, and they stood the rebels off 
everywhere in great shape. He hasn’t the faintest 
idea where the 200th Ind. is. The divisions and 
brigades have been jumped around from one end 
of the line to the other till he has but little more 
idea where any regiment is than if it was in the 
moon. The only way for us is to make our way as 
fast as we can to the front, where they need every 
man, apd trust to luck to find the regiment. We’ll 
probably not find it, but we’ll find a place where they 
need us badly.” 

“Le’s go ahead, then,” said Si firmly, “as fast as 
we can. We’d much rather be with the regiment, 
but we’ll take whatever comes wherever it comes, 
and do our level best.” 

“I know you will. Sergeant,” answered the Lieu- 
tenant. “Take another look over your men. See 
that they’ve all cartridges, and caution them to keep 
cool, stay together, whatever happens, and listen to 
orders.” 

Si felt a new and keener solicitude than he had 


KEYED UP FOR ACTION. 


199 


ever before experienced. Hitherto his only thoughts 
were as to his own safety and to do himself credit 
in the discharge of his duty. Now he felt a heavy 
responsibility for every man in the detachment. 

He walked slowly down the front of the line, and 
looked into every man’s face. They appeared anx- 
ious but resolute. The face of Wat Burnham, the 
Englishman, had settled into more of a bull-dog look 
than ever. The Irishmen seemed eager. Abel 
Waite, the boy on the left, wa? as excited as if a 
game of foot-ball was to come otf. He called out : 

“Say, Sergeant, I hain’t got but 10 cartridges. 
Will that be enough?” 

“It’ll have to be enough for the present,” answered 
Si. “Be careful of ’em. Don’t waste none. Be 
sure o’ your man,' aim low, git under his belt, an’ 
be careful to ketch your hind-sight before you pull 
the tr'gger. If we need more cartridges we’ll have 
to find more somewhere.” 

From away beyond the green and yellow waves of 
hills came the crash of the reopened battle. The 
ripping noise of regiments firing by volley was 
hoarsely punctuated by the deep boom of the field- 
pieces. 

“Attention, company! Forward — March!” shout- 
ed Lieut. Bowersox. 

They swept down the mountain-side, over the 
next eminence, and so onward. At every crest that 
they raised the uproar of the battle became louder, 
txhe crash of musketry and the thunder of the can- 
non more continuous. The roads were so filled with 
teams being urged forward or backward that they 
could not follow them, but had to make their way 


200 


SI KLEGG. 


through the woods and occasional fields, only keep- 
ing such direction as would bring them quickest 
to some part of the stormy firing-line. 

The Lieutenant and Si and Shorty tried to make 
themselves believe that the noise was receding, show- 
ing that the rebels were being driven. At times it 
certainly was so, and then again it would burst out, 
“Nearer, clearer, deadlier than before,'' 
and their hearts would sink again. A little past 
noon they came upon a hight, and there met a sight 
which, for the moment, froze their blood. To their 
right front the whole country was filled with men 
flying in the wildest confusion. All semblance of 
regimental order was lost in the awful turmoil. 
Cannon, sometimes drawn by two or three horses, 
sometimes by only one, were plunging around amid 
the mob of infantrymen. Mounted officers were 
wildly galloping in all directions. Colors were car- 
ried to crests and ridges, and for a moment groups 
of men would gather around them, only to melt again 
into the mob of fugitives. From far behind came 
the yells of the exultant rebels, and a storm of shot 
and shell into the disorganized mass. 

The boys' hearts sickened with the thought that 
the whole army was in utter rout. For a minute 
or two they surveyed the appalling sight in speech- 
less despair. Then a gleam of hope shot into Si's 
mind. 

“Listen," he said; “the firing is heavier than ever 
over there toward the center and left, and you can 
see that men are goin' up instid o' runnin' away. 
It's Stone River over again. McCook's bin knocked 
to pieces, just as he always is, but old Pap Thomas 


keyed VP FOR ACTION. 


201 


is standing there like a lion, just as he did at Stone 
River, and he’s holding Crittenden with him.” 

“You’re right. Si,” shouted the Lieutenant and 
Shorty. “Hip, hip, hooray for the Army o’ the Cum- 
berland and old Pap Thomas!” 

They deflected to the left, so as to avoid being 
tangled up in the mass of fugitives, and pushed for- 
ward more determinedly, if possible, than ever. 
They kept edging to the right, for they wanted to 
reach Thomas’s right as nearly as possible, as that 
was the natural position of their regiment. 

Presently, on mounting a roll of the ground, they 
saw sloping down from them a few nods away, 
and running obliquely to their right, a small “dead- 
ening,” made by the shiftless farmer for his scanty 
corn crop. A mob of fugitives flying through had 
trampled the stalks to the ground. Si and Shorty 
had seen some of them and yelled at them to come 
up and form on them, but the skedaddlers either 
would not or could not hear. 

Beyond the “deadening” came a horde of pursuing 
rebels, firing and yelling like demons. The sight 
and sound swelled the boys’ hearts with the rage 
of battle. 

“Lieutenant,” suggested Si, “there’s no need o’ 
goin’ any further just now for a fight. We can 
have just as nice a one right here as we can find 
anywhere. I move that we line up back here and 
wait for them rebels to come on, an’ then git ’em 
pn the flank with an enfilade that’ll salivate ’em in 
a holy minute.” 

“The same idea has occurred to me,” said the 
Lieutenant; “though I’ve felt all along that we 


202 


SI KLEGG. 


should not be diverted by anything from making 
our way' as fast as possible up to the main line. 
What do you think, Shorty?” 

^‘My idee is to down a rebel whenever you git a 
good chance,” said Shorty. “ ‘Do the work nearest 
thy hand,’ I once heard an old preacher say. Le’s 
jump these hounds right here.”, 

“All right,” assented the Lieutenant quite will- 
ingly. “Form the men just back of the edge of the 
woods. Keep them out of sight, and caution them 
not to shoot till they get the order. We must wait 
till we get the rebels just right.” 

Si and Shorty hurriedly posted the men behind 
trees and rocks, cautioned them to wait for orders, 
and fire low, and then stationed themselves, one at 
the right, and the other at the left of the irregular 
line. They had scarcely done so when the rebels 
came surging through the “deadening” in a torrent. 
They were urged on by two mounted officers wear- 
ing respectively the silver stars of a Colonel and 
a Major. 

“The feller on the bay boss’s my meat,” shouted 
Shorty from the left. 

“All right,” answered Si. “I’ll take the chap on 
the roan.” 

“Wait a little,” cautioned the Lieutenant. “We’ll 
get more of them if you do. Now, let them have it. 
Ready— Aim— FIRE !” 

Down went the Colenel and Major and fully 50 
.of their men. The Indiana recruits might be green 
as to tactics, but they knew how to level a gun. 

The startled rebels ceased yelling, and looked 
around in amazement in the direction whence the 


KEYED UP FOR ACTION. 


203 


unexpected fire came. A few began firing that way, 
but the majority started to run back across the 
“deadening’' to the sheltering woods. Groups gath- 
ered around the fallen officers to carry them back. 

“Load as fast as you can, boys,” commanded the 
Lieutenant. “That was a good one. Give them an- 
other.” 

The young Irishmen were wild with excitement, 
and wanted to rush down and club the rebels, but 
the Lieutenant restrained them, though he could not 
get them to reload their guns. As Si was bringing 
down his gun he noticed the Englishman aiming 
at the groups about the officers. 

“Don’t shoot them. Fire at the others,” Si called 
out, while he himself aimed at a man who was try- 
ing to rally his comrades. 

“W’y the bloody ’ell shouldn’t Hi shoot them the 
same has the bothers?” snarled the Englishman, 
firing into the group. “They’re all bloody rebels.” 

By the time the second round was fired the “dead- 
ening” was clear of all the rebels but those who had 
been struck. The others were re-forming on the 
knoll beyond, and a field-piece was hurried up to 
their assistance, which threw a shell over at the line. 

“We had better move off,” said the Lieutenant. 
“They’re forming out there to take us in flank, and 
we can’t hold them back. We have done all that we 
can here, and a mighty good job, too. We have 
saved a lot of our men and salted a good bagful 
of rebels. Attention ! File left — March !” 

“That was a mighty good introduction for the 
boys,” said Si to Shorty as they moved on through 
the woods. “They begin to see how the thing’s done ; 


204 


SI KLEGG. 


and didn't they act splendidly? I’m proud of In- 
jianny.” 

“Sergeant, didn’t I do well?” asked Abel Waite, in 
the tone that he would have inquired of his teacher 
about a recitation. “I done just as you told me. 
I kep’ my eye on the tall feller in front, who was 
wavin’ his gun and yellin’ at the rest to come on. I 
aimed just below his belt, an’ he went down just 
like I’ve seen a beef when pap shot him.” 

“Good boy,” said Si, patting him on the shoul- 
der. “You’re a soldier already.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 


THE TERRIFIC STRUGGLE — THE END OF THE BATTLE 
OF CHICKAMAUGA. 

L ieut. Bowersox, Si, Shorty and the recruits 
left the woods and entered a large clearing, 
in the midst of which was a log cabin, with 
a few rude outbuildings. Over it flew the yellow 
flag of the hospital service, and beyond could be 
seen the parked trains and other evidences of the 
line-of-battle. 

The roar of the battle would have told them as 
much, for it was now deafening. The earth seemed 
to throb and the trees shake with the awful shocks. 
As they passed the hospital they saw a grewsome 
pile of amputated legs and arms, while the ground 
around about was filled with wounded, whose groans 
pierced through the roar of battle. 

James Bradshaw and Simeon Wheelwright, the 
two tall, stalwart men who had stood on the right 
and- who had shown great coolness during the fight, 
gave one look at the dismembered limbs, turned 
pale as death, gasped, and fell in a faint. 

''Forward ! Can’t stop to pay attention to them,” 
commanded the Lieutenant, in whom the battle- 
fever was burning. 

Though still more than two miles from the low 
crest of Snodgrass Hill, where Gen. Thomas, with 
the remainder of the Army of the Cumberland, was 


206 


SI KLEGG. 


standing savagely at bay against the fierce assaults 
of Bragg’s and Longstreet’s overwhelming num- 
bers, they were soon in the midst of the wild ruck 
and confusion of the rear of a great battle. Miles 
of wagons were being urged hither and yon, some- 
times in accordance with intelligent orders by offi- 
cers, more often from the panicky fears of wagon- 
masters and teamsters ; riderless horses with saddles 
under their bellies were galloping frantically around ; 
squads of artillerymen in search of ammunition were 
storming about, cursing cowardly teamsters, whom 
they could not find; streams of wounded men were 
trying to make their way to the hospitals; officers 
were yelling and swearing in their attempts to rally 
shirks and cowards who had fied from the front; 
men from regiments which had been broken and 
scattered by the fierce assaults were trying to find 
their colors; Colonels whose regiments had been or- 
dered up from the rear were fiercely forcing their 
way forward, with many dire objurgations on all 
who impeded their progress. 

It was a scene to discourage any but the stoutest 
heart, yet it only wrought up the boys to greater 
eagerness to get through to the firing-line. 

The smoke-crowned crest of Snodgrass Hill was 
seen but half a mile away. They could make out 
the ragged, irregular line of blue constantly vailing 
itself in sulphurous vapor as it poured murderous 
volleys into the enemy. The shrill yell of the rebels 
as they renewed the charge, and the deep-toned 
cheer of the Union soldiers as they repulsed it, 
reached their ears in the momentary lulls of the 
firing. 


THE TERRIFIC STRUGGLE. 


207 


So far, in spite of all deterrents, they had brought 
every man through except the two who had fainted 
at the hospital. Everyone had shown true metal. 
Little Abel Waite had particularly distinguished him- 
self by skillful dodging under wagons and past 
flanks, in order to keep up with the swift pace of 
the longer-legged men. 

They had as yet found no one in all the throng 
to give them the least information as to their regi- 
ment, when Si spied a member of Co. Q walking 
deliberately back, holding the wrist of his shattered 
left hand in his right, with his fingers compressing 
the artery to restrain the flow of blood. 

“There’s Silas Peckham,” exclaimed Si, running 
up to him. “Badly hurt, Sile?” 

“No,” answered Silas, more coolly than if he had 
stubbed his toe. “Left hand’s gone on a strike. 
That’s all. Wisht I could find a doctor to fix it up 
so I could git back to the boys. They’re havin’ an 
awful tussle up there, an’ need me bad. Better hurry 
up. Si. Don’t waste no time on me. I’ll find a 
doctor soon an’ be back with you.” 

“Where’s the regiment, Sile?” asked the Lieuten- 
ant. 

“Right up there to the left o’ them tall hickories,” 
answered Silas, pointing with his bloody hand. “To 
the right o’ that battery, you see there. That’s our 
bully old battery at work. Greatest battery in the 
army. I’ve kept my eye on the place, because I 
want to git back as soon’s I kin find the Surgeon. 
Ain’t much left o’ the regiment, or battery either, 
for that matter; but they’re raisin’ hell with the 


208 


SI KLEGG. 


Johnnies every time, and don^t you forgit it. Capt. 
McGillicuddy’s in command.” 

“Capt. McGillicuddy?” said the Lieutenant. “Why, 
he’s the junior Captain in the regiment.” 

“He v^as yisterday mornin’, but he’s now senior to 
everybody that’s alive,” answered Silas. “The Run- 
nel wuz killed yisterday forenoon. The Lootenant- 
Kunnell held out about three hours an’ then he 
got it for keeps, an’ the Major tuck command an’ 
stuck out till nigh evenin’, when they knocked him. 

“This mornin’ the Captains ’s bin going down so 
fast that I couldn’t keep track of ’em, till Capt. 
McGillicuddy was the only one left, an’ he’s swearin’ 
that the rebels never run no bullet that could hit 
him. The Adjutant’s acting Lootenant-Kunnel an’ 
Major both to-wunst, and shootin’ a gun when he 
hain’t nothin’ else to do. But the boys that’s left 
’s stayers, I tell you. They’ve jest ‘stuck their toe- 
nails into that hilltop there, an’ every time them 
howlin’ rebels come yippin’ an’ ki-yi-in’ out o’ the 
woods they send ’em back on the dead run. But they 
want you up there bad. You’ve, got more than’s 
left in the regiment. Hurry up. I’ll be back with 
you jest as soon’s I kin find a doctor to cooper me 
up a little.” 

“Forward — Quick time — March !” shouted the 
Lieutenant. “Guide on those tall hickories.” 

Onward they rushed full into the smoke that drift- 
ed backward down the hill. As they gained the crest 
the air became clearer, and they saw the sadly- 
shrunken remnant of their regiment strung in an 
irregular line along the forward edge. Some were 
binding up wounds more or less severe, some were 


THE TERRIFIC STRUGGLE. 209 

searching the boxes of the dead and wounded for 
cartridges, some were leaning on their hot guns, 
looking curiously into the woods at the foot of the 
slope into which the rebels had fled. 

Every face was blackened with powder almost be- 
yond recognition. The artillerymen to the left were 
feverishly swabbing out their guns and trying to 
cool them off, and bringing up everything in the 
shape of ammunition from the limbers in the rear. 

Capt. McGillicuddy was leaning on his sword at 
the right of the line, intently watching everything. 
He looked sharply around, when the men raised a 
cheer on recognizing Si and the rest, and coming 
back shook Lieut. Bowersox warmly by the hand, 
saying : 

“Great God, Lieutenant, I’ve always been glad to 
see you, but I never was so glad to see a man in 
my life as I am you this minute. How many men did 
you bring?” 

“I’ve got 128 with me,” answered the Lieutenant. 
“What’s the situation?” 

“You have? Well, you’ve got more than we have 
left. You’ll act as Major. Poor Wilkinson just got 
his dose. You can see him lying down there in the 
rear of the left. Put your men in anywhere. Mix 
them up with the others. It don’t matter much 
about formation. The main thing’s to stand and 
shoot. The rebels have been charging us all after- 
noon, but we have whipped them back every time. 

“You can see our work out there (pointing to 
the slope in front, which was literally covered with 
dead and wounded). I’ve thought every time that 
they couldn’t stand another such a slaughter, but 
8 


210 


SI KLEGG. 


they've rallied in those woods there and come out 
again with their infernal yell, just as before. The 
last time it seemed to me that we just swept them 
off the face of the earth, and I don't see how in 
God's name they can stand any more of that sort of 
thing. It's worse killing than we gave them at Stone 
River. It seems to me that hell has let out for noon, 
and sent all its devils to reinforce them. But it will 
soon be night now, when they'll have to stop. If 
they won't we'll have to depend on the bayonet, for 
we haven't five rounds apiece left, and I can't get 
more anywhere." 

Si and Shorty had been distributing the detach- 
ment along the line, and had posted the Englishman 
and his squad of Irishmen, with themselves, around 
the tattered colors, which were now in the hands 
of the last survivor of the color guard, who was 
himself wounded. 

Dusk was fast coming on, when the woods beyond 
the foot of the slope began to darken again with 
masses of men arraying in column of assault. 

‘‘They're coming again," called out Capt. McGilli- 
cuddy. “Lieut. Bowersox, look out there for the left. 
Men, if we haven't stopped them when we've fired 
out last shot, we’ll fix bayonets and charge them. 
We must keep them off this hill or die right here." 

He was answered with cheers. A demoniac yell 
from 10,000 fierce throats rang through the woods, 
and the next instant thunder and flames burst from 
the sweeping crescent of rebel cannon, and the 
ground in front of the foot of the hill was hidden 
from view by the tide of men rushing over it. 

A fierce storm of cannon and musketry answered 


THE TERRIFIC STRUGGLE. 


211 


from the crest of the hill. As they reloaded, Si and 
Shorty saw in quick glances that the rebel line to 



WHIRL. 

the right and left seemed beaten to a standstill by 
the terrific storm which fell upon them, but in their 


212 


SI KLEGG. 


immediate front a body of men, apparently a regi- 
ment, kept stubbornly forging forward. Upon their 
flag, held gallantly aloft, eould be made out the let- 
ters '‘Miss.” 

By the time every shot in the cartridge-boxes had 
been fired at them they had forced their way half- 
up the slope. 

“Attention, 200th Indiana,” shouted Capt. Mc- 
Gillicuddy. “Dress on the colors. Fix bayonets.” 

“They’uns ’s Injiannians,” shouted the rebel Color- 
Sergeant, waving his flag defiantly. ‘^Come on, you 
Hoosiers. We'uns ’s Mississippians. Remember 
Buny Visty. Injiannians 's cowards.” 

“Shorty, le's have that 'ere flag,” said Si. 

“Le’s,” said Shorty, pushing around the ring that 
locked his bayonet on. 

“Forward — March — Charge!” shouted Capt. Mc- 
Gillicuddy. 

Of the mad whirl of an eternity of events in the 
next few minutes neither Si nor Shorty had anything 
but a delirious remembrance. They could only rec- 
ollect the . fierce rush of the lightning-like play of 
bayonet and gun-barrel in the storm-center around 
the rebel colors. Each after an instant's savage 
fencing had sent his bayonet home in his opponent's 
body. Si had sprung at and seized the rebel colors, 
only to fall, as he grasped them, from a bullet out 
of the revolver of a rebel Captain, whom Shorty in- 
stantly bayoneted, and fell himself from a blow 
across the head with a musket-barrel. 

The man who struck him was bayoneted by Abel 
Waite, who was dancing around the edges of the 
melee , like a malignant little fiend, prodding 


THE TERRIFIC STRUGGLE. 


213 


wherever he could get a chance at a rebel body. The 
Irishmen, yelling like demons, were using their guns 
like shilelahs, and crushing heads in every direction, 
while Wat Burnham had thrown his musket aside, 
and was rushing at everybody with his mighty fists. 

At length the rebels fled, leaving the Indianians 
in possession of their colors and the hillside. 

''Some of you find Lieut. Bowersox, and bring 
him here,” said Capt. McGillicuddy, sitting up, and 
beginning to twist a handkerchief around his thigh, 
to form a torniquet. "Lieutenant, you all right?” 

"Nothing more than a mere scratch on the side of 
my head,” said the Lieutenant, wiping away the 
blood. 

"Well, Lieutenant, you'll have to take command of 
the regiment. I had a personal altercation with that 
Mississippi Colonel lying over there, and he put a 
bullet through my thigh. Get the men together, pick 
up our wounded, and fall back to the top of the hill 
again.” 

"I'm afraid there's no use of picking up Corp'l 
Klegg and Shorty,” said the Lieutenant, with tears 
in his eyes. "They got the rebel flag, but they're 
lying there stiff and cold.” 

"Well, bring them back, anyway, so we can lay 
them beside the other gallant boys who have fallen 
to-day.” 


CHAPTER XVIL 


IN THE HOSPITAL — REMOVED FROM THE BATTLEFIELD 
TO THE HOSPITAL AT CHATTANOOGA. 

F or a short time a silence that seemed oppres- 
sive followed the fierce turmoil of the last 
charge of the rebels upon Snodgrass Hill and 
its repulse. Both sides had exhausted themselves 
in the awful grapple, and had to regain breath and 
thought. Then the night was pierced by the agon- 
izing groans of the innumerable wounded, the stern 
commands of officers to their men to re-form, the 
calls of scattered men seeking their regiments and 
companies. 

The sadly-shrunken remnant of the unconquer- 
able 200th Ind. gathered around its regimental col- 
ors, on the front of the crest of Snodgrass Hill, 
and grimly, silently prepared for the next event, 
whatever it might be. The wounds of those still 
able to fight were bound up, and they resumed their 
places in line. The worst hurt were helped or car- 
ried back to the busy Surgeon under the shelter 
of the hill. The newly-dead were brought up and 
added to the row of those who had already fought 
their last battle. Cartridge-boxes of both dead and 
wounded were carefully searched for remaining car- 
tridges. Si and Shorty were laid at the end of the 
long row. 

The chill air of the evening began to revive Si 


IN THE HOSPITAL. 


215 


and Shorty. Si’s brain responded long before any 
of his muscles. At first it seemed the vaguest and 
most shadowy of dreams. There was a dim con- 
sciousness of lying somewhere. Where it was, how 
he came there, what was going on around he had 
not the slightest idea nor desire to know. There 
was just the feeling of being there, without any 
sensation of comfort or discomfort, wish or longing. 

One by one, and very slowly, other nerves awoke. 
He became conscious that there was a sharp stone 
or knot under his head, which hurt, and he tried to 
move it, but queerly his head would not move, and 
then he found that neither would his hands. This 
was faintly puzzling, as things are in dreams. Then 
his throat became on fire with thirst, and somehow 
there came a dream of the deliciously cool well on 
the farm at home, the bucket covered with gfeen 
moss swinging over it, the splash of cool water when 
it was lowered, the trough by the side, where they 
used to pour water for the fowls to drink, the muddy 
spot around, where water plants grew on the splash- 
ings and drippings. Then were visions of the 
eternal, parching thirst of the damned, which he had 
often heard preachers describe, and he y^as con- 
scious of a faint curiosity as to whether he had died 
and waked up in the home of the lost. 

Still not a muscle waked up to obey his will, and 
he seemed indifferent whether it did or not. Then 
he forgot everything again, until presently his burn- 
ing throat recalled his consciousness. 

He felt the cold, bracing air in his nostrils, and 
slowly, very slowly at first, he began to hear and 
understand the sounds around him. The shriek of 


216 


SI KLEGG. 


a wounded comrade carried past, whose leg had been 
shattered, first sounded like the hum of bees, and 
finally translated itself into something like its true 
meaning, but he had no comprehension or sympathy 
for its misery. 

He tried to make some sound himself, but his 
tongue was as hypnotized as his other muscles, and 
refused to obey his will. Yet at the moment he did 
not seem to care much. His wishes were as numb 
as his tendons and sinews. He became shadowly 
conscious of his comrades gathering around him, 
picking him up, carrying him back up the hill, and 
laying him down again. This relieved the sharp 
pain from the stone under his head; but when they 
laid him down again his head fell too low. He heard 
the murmur of their voices, and felt their hands 
searching his pockets for cartridges. 

Consciousness began returning more swiftly, 
though the muscles were yet paralyzed. He could 
feel to the tips of his fingers, yet he could not move 
them. He began to understand the words spoken 
about him, and comprehend their meaning. The 
first sentence that filtered its way to his brain was 
Lieut. Bowersox's order to the regiment: 

“The orders are to fall back quietly. We’ll fol- 
low the 1st Oshkosh, on our right. As soon as it 
is well down the hill we’ll move by the right fiank, 
and fall in behind it. Our wagon is right at the 
bottom of the hill. Those that are not able to march 
will start now, and get in it. It will move right 
after the regiment. Don’t anybody say a word of 
this above his breath. The rebels are listening 
sharply for our movements. We dare not even cheer. 


IN THE HOSPITAL. 


217 


for fear they’ll find out how few are left of us. 
All of you keep a lookout, and follow right after me 
when I start, for I won’t give any order.” 

Then all his consciousness seemed to wake up at 
once into an agony of fear of being left behind to 
fall into the hands of the rebels. He made a des- 
perate effort to call out, but his tongue seemed dry 
and useless as a cornhusk in his parched mouth, 
and his throat too burning hot to perform its 
office. Nor could he lift a finger nor move a toe. 

He found room for anger at Shorty that he did 
not look him up, and satisfy himself as to his con- 
dition, and Lieut. Bowersox and the rest seemed 
selfishly thoughtful of their own safety and neglect- 
ful of his. 

He listened in agony to the regiment on the right 
marching off, to the cautions and admonitions given 
those who were carrying off the badly-wounded, and 
then to Lieut. Bowersox starting off with the right 
of the 200th Ind. 

Then he heard little Abel Waite say : 

‘T know that Si Klegg has some things on him 
that his folks’d like to have. I know where they live. 
I’m goin’ to git ’em, and send ’em to ’em.” 

“Make haste, then, young feller,” he heard Wat 
Burnham growl. “Don’t let the rebels ketch yer. 
We’re movin’ now.” 

He heard Abel Waite’s steps running toward him, 
and felt his hands thrust into his blouse pocket over 
his breast. Then the boy said with a start of sur- 
prise : 

“Why, he’s alive yet. Come here, Wat.” 

Wat and the Irishmen hastened to him. He felt 


218 


SI KLEGG. 


Wat’s hand laid on his breast, and then held over 
his mouth. 

’E’s certainly warm yet. Hand ’e breathes.” 

Shorty made a violent effort, and summoned 
enough strength to reach over and touch the Eng- 
lishman’s foot. 

“The tall feller’s alive, too,” said Wat. 

“We must take ’em along with us,” said Abel 
Waite excitedly. 

“Yes, but ’ow?” growled the Englishman. “Don’t 
speak so loud, you young brat. Do you want to 
hopen hup that ’ell’s kitchen hagin?” 

“The Liftinant’s far down the hill wid the regi- 
ment,” said Barney McGrath. “There’s no toime 
to sind for him. Here, lit’s pick thim up an’ carry 
thim down to the wagon.” 

He put his hand under Si’s shoulder. The others 
did the same, Wat lifting Shorty’s feet. 

“Halt, there, you Yanks, and surrender,” said a 
stern voice just behind Wat. 

Wat looked back over his shoulder and saw a single 
adventurous rebel who, divining what was going 
on, had slipped forward in the darkness, with his 
gun leveled on the squad bearing. Si. Wat realized 
instantly that the rebel must be suppressed with- 
out alarm to others that might be behind him. He 
dropped Shorty’s foot, and with a backward sweep 
of his mighty right took the rebel in the stomach 
with such force as to double him up. The next in- 
stant Wat had his throat in his terrific grip, and 
tried to tear the windpipe from him. Then he 
flung the rebel forward down the hill, gathered 
up Shorty’s feet again, and gave the command : 


IN THE HOSPITAL. 


219 


‘‘Hall right. Go a’ead, boys, quick has you can.” 

With great difficulty they made their way over 
the wreckage of battle down the hill toward where 
they expected to find the regimental wagon. But it 
had received all that it could hold of its ghastly 
freight and moved off. 

They were is despair for a few minutes, until Abel 
Waite discovered an abandoned wagon near by, with 
one mule still hitched to it. Next they found a 
wounded artillery horse which had been turned loose 
from his battery. He was hitched in, and Si and 
Shorty were laid on the layer of ammunition-boxes 
which still covered the bottom of the bed. 

“Who’ll drive the bloody team?” growled Wat. 
“Hi never druv a ’oss hin my life. ’Ere, Barney, 
you get hin the saddle.” 

“Not Oi,” answered Barney. “Oi niver could 
droive ay ven a pig, on the brightest day that shone. 
Oi’ll not fool wid a couple av strange horses, a 
wagon-load av foire an’ brimstone, an’ a brace av 
dead men, in the midst av Aygytian darkness. Not 
Oi.” 

“Here, I kin drive two horses, anyway,” said Abel 
Waite, climbing into the saddle. “I’ve done that 
much on the farm.” 

They pushed off into the road marked by the dark 
line of troops moving silently toward McFarland’s 
Gap, and after some contest with other drivers se- 
cured a place behind one of the regiments of their 
brigade. 

A couple of miles ahead Forrest’s cavalry was 
making a noisy dispute of the army’s retreat, the 


220 


SI KLEGG. 


woods were on fire, and the fences on either side 
of the road were blazing. 

The long line was halted in anxious expectation 
for a little while, as the storm of battle rose, and 
the men looked into each other’s faces with sick- 
ening apprehension, for it seemed much like defeat 
and capture. Then loud cheers, taken up clear down 



THE DEAD BEING COLLECTED AFTER THE BATTLE. 


the line, rose as Turchin’s Brigade, by a swift bay- 
onet charge, swept away all opposition, scattered 
the rebels to the shelter of the woods, and reopened 
the way. But the rebels still continued to fire long- 
distance shots at the road as outlined by the burn- 
ing fences. 

Though one of his team was wounded, Abel Waite 


IN THE HOSPITAL. 


221 


had little difficulty in keeping his place in column 
until the burning lane was reached. The regiment 
ahead had gone through on the double-quick, and 
teams as fast as they could be lashed. 

“What’ll we do now?” he called out to the others 
in his boyish treble. “I can’t git these plugs out 
of a walk. If we go ahead the fire’ll bust the am- 
munition, and send us all sky-huntin’. If we stop 
here them rebels ’ll git us, sure.” 

“Go a’ead, Habe,” growled Wat, after a moment’s 
thought. “We can’t ’elp you, but we’ll stay wi’ you. 
Hif she busts, she busts, hand that’s hall there’ll be 
hof hit hor hof us. We’ll stick by the wagon, though, 
till she busts, hand then nobuddy but the crows ’ll 
hever find hany hof hus. Go a’ead, you bloody brat.” 

“Cut me one o’ them young hickories for a gad,” 
said Abel, pointing to the brush by the side of the 
road, “and I’ll git as good time out o’ these poor 
brutes as they kin make, if I skin ’em alive.” 

Abel lashed his animals with all the strength of 
his young arm, and succeeded in keeping them in 
something like a trot. The men ran alongside, and 
fought the fire as well as they were able. Several 
times the wagon-cover caught fire from the intense 
heat, but it was at once beaten out by hats and 
blouses, and blouses were laid over the holes to pro- 
tect them against the sparks. 

They succeeded at last in getting through the fire- 
bordered road without an explosion, but they were 
all so exhausted that they could not move another 
step until they rested. The poor horse lay down 
and refused to get up. 

Wat and Abel looked in to see how Si and Shorty 


222 


SI KLEGG. 


had fared. The jolting of the wagon and the cold 
night air had at first revived them so that they could 
speak. Then they swooned again from the effects 
of the heat and the stifling smoke, and were speech- 
less and motionless when Wat and Abel looked in. 

“We’ve ’ad hall hour trouble for nothink,” said 
Wat disconsolately, as he felt them over. “The ’eat 
and smoke’s killed ’em.” 

“Not — by — a — durned — sight,” slowly gasped 
Shorty. “Seen — sicker — dogs’n — this — git — ^well. 
Nearly — dead — for — a — drink — o’ — water, though. 
Then— I’ll— be— all— right.” 

Abel snatched a canteen, ran to a branch a little 
way off, filled it, and returning, put it to Shorty’s 
lips. 

“Jehosephat, how good that tastes,” said Shorty, 
speaking still faintly, but far more, freely than at 
first, after he had drained the canteen. “Sonny, 
run and git some more; and mind you fill the can- 
teen full this time. I feel as if I could drink up the 
Mississippi River. Say, boys, what’s happened? 
Appearintly, I got a sock-dologer on my head from 
some feller who thought I was too fresh. I’m afraid 
I’ll have a spell o’ headache. But we got the flag, 
didn’t we?” 

“Yo’re bloody right we did,” said Wat; “hand we 
wolloped them bloomin’ rebels till they ’unted their 
’oles hin the woods.” 

“That’s — good — enough,” said Shorty, sinking 
back. 

“The column’s movin’ agin,” said Abel Waite, turn- 
ing his attention to his team. 

Shortly after daybreak the team limped painfully 


IN THE HOSPITAL. 


223 


up the slope of Mission Ridge, , through Ross villa 
Gap, on either side of which stood Thomas's indom- 
itable army in battle array, sternly defying the rebel 
hosts of Bragg and Longstreet, which swarmed over 
the hills and valleys in front, but without much ap- 
parent appetite for a renewal of the dreadful fray. 

''Where do you men belong? * What have you got 
in that wagon? Where are you going?" demanded 
the Provost officer in the road. 

"We belong to the 200th Hinjianny. We've got 
two badly-wounded men and ha lot o' hammynition 
in the wagon. We want to find our regiment," an- 
swered Wat Burnham. 

"Stop your wagon right there. We need all the 
ammunition we can get. Lift your wounded men 
into that ambulance, and then go up to that side 
of the gap. Your division is up there somewhere." 

It was late in the afternoon before the overworked 
Surgeon in the field hospital at Chattanooga, in 
which Si and Shorty were finally deposited, found 
time to examine them. 

"You got a pretty stiff whack on your head, my 
man," he said to Shorty, as he finished looking him 
over; "but so far as I can tell now it has not frac- 
tured your skull. You Hoosiers have mighty hard 
heads." 

"Reglar clay-knob whiteoak," whispered Shorty; 
"couldn't split it with a maul and wedge. Don't 
mind that a mite, since we got that flag. But how's 
my pardner over there?" 

"I think you'll pull through all right," continued 
the Surgeon, "if you don't have concussion of the 
brain. You'll have to be" 


224 


SI KLEGG. 


“No danger o’ discussion of the brains,” whispered 
Shorty. “Don’t carry ’em up there> where they’re 
liable to get slabbed. Keep ’em in a safer place, 
where there’s more around ’em. But how’s my pard- 
ner?” 

“You’ll come through all right,” said the Surgeon 
smiling. “You’re the right kind to live. You’ve 
got grit. I’ll look at your partner now.” 

He went to Si and examined him. Shorty turned 
on his side and watched him with eager eyes. His 
heart sickened as he saw the Surgeon’s face grow 
graver as he proceeded. The Surgeon probed the 
bullet’s track with his fingers, and drew out a piece 
of folded letter paper stained with blood. Instinc- 
tively he unfolded it, and read through the en- 
sanguined smears, written in a cramped school-girl 
hand: 

“Dear Si ; Though I did not have the heart to say 
it, Ime yours till death, and Ime sure you feel the 
same way. Annabel.” 

“I’m much afraid the end has come too soon to a 
brave as well as loving heart,” said the Surgeon 
sadly. 

“Doctor, he can’t die. He mustn’t die,” said 
Shorty in agony. “The regiment can’t spare him. 
He’s the best soldier in it, and he’s my pardner.” 

“He may live, but it’s a very slender chance,” said 
the Surgeon. “Men live in this war against all sci- 
ence and experience, and it is possible that he may.” 

“Major,” said Lieut. Bowersox, coming in, “I 
understand that two of my men were brought in 


IN THE HOSPITAL. 


225 


here wounded. The report which was sent North 
this morning gave them as killed. If you have them 
here I want to correct it and save their people sor- 
row.'' 

''One of them," answered the Surgeon, "has no 
thought of dying, and will. I’m sure, pull through. 
I am sorry I cannot say the same for the other. 
It he lives it will be a wonder.” 

"Neither of us is a-going to die till we've put down 
this damned rebellion, and got home and married 
our girls," gasped Shorty with grim effort. "You 
can jist telegraph that home, and to ole Abe Lin- 
coln, and to all whom it may concern.” 

And he fell back exhausted on his blanket. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


A DISTURBING MESSAGE — THE DEACON HURRIEDLY 
LEAVES FOR CHATTANOOGA. 

T hat evening Lieut. Bowersox sent a telegram 
to Deacon Klegg. It had to be strictly lim- 
ited to 10 words, and read : 

JosiAH Klegg, Esq., 

Somepunkins Station, Ind. : 

Josiah not killed. Hospital at Chattanooga. Badly 
wounded. E. C. Bowersox. 

It did not arrive at Sumpunkins Station, three 
miles from the Deacon's home, until the next fore- 
noon. The youth who discharged the multifarious 
duties of Postmaster, passenger, freight and express 
agent, baggage-master, and telegraph operator at 
Sumpunkins Station laboriously spelled out the dots 
and dashes on the paper strip in the instrument. He 
had barely enough mastery of the Morse alphabet 
to communicate the routine messages relating to the 
railroad's business aided by the intelligence of the 
conductors and engineers as to what was expected 
of them. This was the first outside message that he 
had ever received, and for a while it threatened to 
be too much for him, especially as the absence of 
punctuation made it still more enigmatical. He 


A DISTURBING MESSAGE. 


227 


faithfully transcribed each letter as he made it out, 
and then the agglomeration read : 

“Josiamnotkildhospitalatchatanoogabadlywounded 

ecbowersox.’’ 

‘‘Confound them smart operators at Louisville 
and Jeffersonville/' he grumbled, scanning the 
scrawl. “They never make letters plain, and don’t 
put in half of ’em, just to worrit country operators. 
I’d like to take a club to ’em. There’s no sort o’ 
sense in sich sending. A Philadelphia lawyer 
couldn’t make nothing out of it. But I’ve got to 
or get a cussing, and mebbe the bounce. I’ll try it 
over again, and see if I can separate it into words. 
Why in thunder can’t they learn to put a space be- 
tween the words, and not jumble the letters all to- 
gether in that fool fashion ?” 

The next time he wrote it out : 

“J. 0. S. I am not kild Hospital at Chattanooga 
badly wounded E. C. Bower sox.” 

“That begins to look like something,” said he, 
wiping the sweat from his forehead. “But who is 
J. 0. S.? Nobody o’ them initials in this neighbor- 
hood. Nor E. C. Bower. Deacon Klegg can’t know 
any of ’em. Then, how’s the hospital badly wounded 
Bower? What’s that about his socks? I’ll have to 
try it over again as soon as No. 7, freight, gets by.” 

After No. 7 had gotten away, he tackled the mes- 
sage again : 

“No, that sixth letter’s not an m, but an h. H is 
four dots, and m is two dashes. It’s specks in the 
paper that makes it look like an h. I’ll put in some 
letters where they’re needed. Now let’s see how 
it’ll read:” 


228 


SI KLEGG. 


“Josiah Nott killed Hospital at Chattanooga. 
Badly wounded E. C. Bower sox.” 

'‘That seems to have more sense in it, but I don’t ‘ 
know any Josiah Nott in this country. Does it mean 
that he killed a man named Hospital at Chattanooga, 
and badly wounded E. C. Bower in the socks? That 
don’t seem sense. I’ll try it again.” 

The next time he succeeded in making it read : 

“Josiah Nott killed. Hospital at Chattanooga. 
Badly wounded E. C. Bower’s ox.” 

“There, that’s best I can do,” he said, surveying 
the screed. “It’ll have to go that way, and let the 
Deacon study it out. He’s got more time ’n I have, 
and mebbe knows all about it. I can’t spend no 
more time on it. No. 3, passenger, from the West ’s 
due in 20 minutes, and I’ve got to get ready for it. 
Good luck; there comes the Deacon’s darky now, 
with a load of wheat. I’ll send it out by him.” 

The operator wrote out his last version of the 
message on a telegraph-blank, inclosed it in a West- 
ern Union envelope, which he addressed to Deacon 
Klegg, and gave to Abraham Lincoln, with strong 
injunctions to make all haste back home with it. 

Impressed with these, Abraham, as soon as he 
delivered his grain to the elevator, put his team to a 
trot, and maintained it until he reached home. 

Everything about the usually cheerful farm-house 
was shrouded in palpable gloom. The papers of the 
day before, with their ghastly lists of the dead and 
wounded, had contained Si’s and Shorty’s names, 
besides those of other boys of the neighborhood, in 
terrific, unmistakable plainness. There were few 
homes into which mourning had not come. The 


A DISTURBING MESSAGE. 


229 


window curtains were drawn down, the front doors 
closed, no one appeared on the front pordh, and it 
seemed that even the dogs and the fowls were op- 
pressed with the general sadness, and forebore their 
usual cheerful utterances. Attired in sober black, 
with eyes red from weeping, and with camphor 
bottle near, Mr. Klegg sat in Si’s room, and between 
her fits of uncontrollable weeping turned over, one 
after another, the reminders of her son. There were 
his bed, his clothes, which she had herself fashioned 
in loving toil for him ; the well-thumbed school-books 
which had cost him so many anxious hours, his gun 
and fishing rod. All these were now sacred to her. 
Elsewhere in the house his teary-eyed sisters went 
softly and silently about their daily work. 

The father had sought distraction in active work, 
and was in the cornfield, long corn-knife in hand, 
shocking up the tall stalks with a desperate energy 
to bring forgetfulness. 

Abraham Lincoln burst into the kitchen, and tak- 
ing the dispatch from his hat said : 

‘‘Hyah am a papeh or sumfin dat de agent down 
at de station done tole me to bring hyah jest as quick 
as I done could. He said hit done come ober a wire 
or a telugraph, or sumfin ob dat ere sort, and you 
must hab hit right-a-way.” 

‘‘0, my; it’s a telegraph dispatch,” screamed 
Maria with that sickening apprehension that all 
women have of telegrams. “It’s awful. I can’t tech 
it. Take it Sophy.” 

“How can I,” groaned poor Sophia, with a fresh 
outburst of tears. “But I suppose I must.” 

The mother heard the scream and the words, and 
hurried into the room. 


230 


SI KLEGG. 


''It’s a telegraph dispatch, mother,” said both the 
girls as they saw her. 

"Merciful Father,” ejaculated Mrs. Klegg, sinking 
into a chair in so nearly a faint that Maria ran into 
the next room for the camphor-bottle, while Sophy 
rushed outside and blew the horn for the Deacon. 
Presently he entered, his sleeves rolled to the elbow 
over his brawny arms, and his shirt and pantaloons 
covered with the spanish-needles and burrs which 
would grow, even in so well-tilled fields as Deacon 
Klegg’s. 

"What’s the matter, mother? What’s the matter, 
girls ?” he asked anxiously. 

Mrs. Klegg could only look at him in speechless 
misery. 

"We’ve got a telegraph dispatch,” finally answered 
Maria, bursting in a torrent of tears, into which 
Sophia joined sympathetically, "and we know it’s 
about poor Si.” 

"Yes, it must be about poor Si; nobody else but 
him,” added Sophia with a wail. 

The father’s face grew more sorrowful than be- 
fore. "What does it say?” he nerved himself to ask, 
after a moment’s pause. 

"We don’t know,” sobbed Maria. "We haint 
opened it. We’re afraid to. Here it is.” 

The father took it with trembling hand. "Well,” 
he said after a little hesitation, "it can’t tell nothin’ 
no worse than we’ve already heard. Let’s open it. 
Bring me my specs.” 

Maria ran for the spectacles, while her father, 
making a strong effort to calm himself, slit open the 


A DISTURBING MESSAGE. 


231 


envelope with a jack-knife, adjusted his glasses, and 
read the inclosure over very slowly. 

‘‘Josiah — Nott — ^killed — Hospital — at — Chattanoo- 
ga — badly — wounded — E. — C. — Bower's — ox. What 
on airth does that mean? I can't for the life o' me 
make it out." 

‘‘Read it over again, pap," said Maria, suddenly 
drying her eyes. 

The father did so. 

“Le' me read it, pap," said Maria, snatching the 
telegram from his hand. “Josiah," said she, read- 
ing. “That's Si's right name." 

“Certainly it is," said her mother, reviving. 

“Certainly; I didn't think o' that before," echoed 
the father. 

“Josiah not killed," continued she. “Good heav- 
ens, that's what that means. They rebels has got 
hold o' the wires, and shook 'em and tangled up the 
rest, but the beginnin's all straight." 

“I believe that Sam Elkins down at the station 's 
mixed it up," said Sophia, with hope springing in“ 
her breast. “He never can get things straight. He 
was in the class with me when I went to school, and 
too dumb to come in when it rained. He was the 
worst writer, speller and reader in the school. Think 
o' him being a telegraph operator. Why, he couldn't 
spell well enough to make tally-marks on a door 
when you're measurin' corn. Railroad was mighty 
hard up for help when it hired him. Let me read 
that dispatch. ‘Josiah not killed.' That means Si 
Klegg, as sure's you're born. It can't mean nothin' 
else, or it wouldn't be addressed to you, pap. ‘Hos- 
pital at Chattanooga.' Chattanooga’s near where 


232 


SI KLEGG. 


the battle was fought. ‘Badly wounded.’ That 
means Si’s bin shot. ‘E. C. Bower’s ox.’ What in 
the world can that be?” 

“Bowersox?” said her father, catching the sound. 
“Why, that’s the name o’ the Lootenant Si and 
Shorty was under when they came home. Don’t you 
remember they told us about him? I remember the 
name, for a man named Bowersox used to run a mill 
down on Bean-Blossom Crick, years ago, and I won- 
dered if he was his son. He’s sent me that dispatch, 
and signed his name. The Lord be praised for His 
never-endin’ mercies. Si’s alive, after all. Le’ me 
read that over again.” 

He took the dispatch with shaking hands, but 
there was too much mist on his glasses, and he had 
to hand it back to Maria to read over again to con- 
vince himself. 

“I’ll tell you what let’s do: Let’s all get in the 
wagon and ride over to the station, and get Sam El- 
kins to read the dispatch over again,” suggested 
Sophia. “I’ll jest bet he’s mummixed it up.” 

“Don’t blame him, Sophy,” urged Maria. “I think 
the rebels has got at the poles or wires and shook 
’em, and mixed the letters up. It’s just like ’em.” 

Sophy’s suggestion was carried out. Abraham 
Lincoln was directed to get out the spring wagon, 
and the Deacon helped hitch up, while the “women- 
folks” got ready. 

While they were at the station getting Sam Elkins 
to re-examine the dots and dashes on his strip of 
paper, the Eastern express arrived, bringing the 
morning papers. The Deacon bought one, and the 
girls nervously turned to the war news. They gave 


A DISTURBING MESSAGE. 


233 


a scream of exultation when they read the revised 
returns of the killed and wounded, and found under 
head of “Wounded, in Hospital at Chattanooga’' : 

“Corporal Josiah Klegg, Q, 200th Ind. 

“Private Daniel Elliott, Q, 200th Ind.” 

“Mother and girls, I’m goin’ to Chattanoogy on 
the next train,” said the Deacon. 

It was only a few hours until the train from the 
East would be along, and grief was measurably for- 
gotten in the joy that Si was^ still alive and in the 
bustle of the Deacon’s preparation for the journey. 

“No,” he said, in response to the innumerable sug- 
gestions made by the mother and daughters. “You 
kin jest set all them things back. I’ve bin down 
there once, and learned something. I’m goin’ to take 
nothin with me but my Bible, a couple o’ clean shirts, 
and my razor. A wise man learns by experience.” 

Mother and girls were inconsolable, for each had 
something that they were sure “Si would like,” and 
would “do him good,” but they knew Josiah Klegg, 
Sr., well enough to understand what was the condi- 
tion when he had once made up his mind. 

“If Si and Shorty’s able to be moved,” he con- 
soled them with, “I’m going to bring them straight 
back home with me, and then you kin nuss and cod- 
dle them all you want to.” 

The news of his prospective journey had flashed 
through the neighborhood, so that he met at the 
station the relatives of most of the men in Co. Q, 
each with a burden of messages and comforts for 
those who were living, or of tearful inquiries as to 
those reported dead. 

He took charge of the letters and money, refused 


234 


SI KLEGG. 


the other things, and gave to the kin of the wounded 
and dead sympathetic assurances of doing every- 
thing possible. 

He had no particular trouble or advanture until 
he reached Nashville. There he found that he could 
go no farther without procuring a pass from the Pro- 
vost-Marshal. At the Provosts's office he found a 
highly miscellaneous crowd besieging that official for 
the necessary permission to travel on the military 
railroad. There were more or less honest and loyal 
speculators in cotton who were ready to take any 
chances in the vicissitudes of the military situation 
to get a few bales of the precious staple. There were 
others who were downright smugglers, and willing 
to give the rebels anything, from quinine to gun- 
caps, for cotton. There were sutlers, pedlers, and 
gamblers. And there were more or less loyal citi- 
zens of the country south who wanted to get back to 
their homes, some to be honest, law-abiding citizens, 
more to get in communication with the rebels and 
aid and abet the rebellion. 

Deacon Klegg's heart sank as he surveyed the 
pushing, eager crowd which had gotten there before 
him, and most of whom were being treated very 
cavalierly by the Provost-Marshal. 

“No,” he heard that official say to a man who ap- 
peared a plain farmer like himself; “you not only 
can have no pass, but you can't stay in Nashville an- 
other day. I remember you. I've heard you tell 
that story of a sick son in the hospital before. I 
remember all the details. You haven't changed one. 
You're a smuggler, and I believe a spy. You've got 
mule-loads of quinine somewhere in hiding, and may 


A DISTURBING MESSAGE. 


235 


be gun-caps and other munitions of war. If you 
know what's good for you, you'll take the next train 
north, and never stop until you are on the other side 
of the Ohio River. If you are in town to-morrow 
morning. I'll put you to work on the fortifications, 
and keep you there till the end of the war. Get out 
of my office at once." 

Others were turned away with similar brusque- 
ness, until the Deacon was in despair; but the 
though of Si on a bed of pain nerved him, and he 
kept his place in the line that was pushing toward 
the Provost's desk. 

Suddenly the Provost looked over those in front 
of him, and fixing his eye on the Deacon, called out : 

‘‘Well, my friend, come up here. What can I do 
for you?" 

The Deacon was astonished, but in obedience to 
a gesture from the Prvost, left the line, and came 
up. 

“What's your name? Where are you from ? What 
are you doing down here? What do you want?" 
inquired the Provost, scanning him critically. 

The Deacon's eyes met his boldly, and he answered 
the questions categorically. 

“Well, Mr. Klegg, you shall have a pass at once, 
and I sincerely hope that you will find your son re- 
covering. You probably do not remember me, but I 
have seen you before, when I was on the circuit in 
Indiana. My clerk there is writing out a pass for 
you. You will have to take the oath of allegiance, 
and sign the paper, which I suppose you have no ob- 
jection to doing." 

“None in the world," answered the Deacon, sur- 


236 


SI KLEGG. 


prised at the unexpected turn of events. ‘‘I’ll be 
only too glad. I was gittin’ very scared about my 
pass.” 

“0, I have hard work here,” said the Provost 
smiling, “in separating the sheep from the goats, 
but I’m now getting to know the goats tolerably well. 
There’s you’re pass. Deacon. A pleasant journey, 
and a happy termination to it.” 

The Deacon took out his long calf-skin wallet from 
his breast, put the precious pass in it, carefully 
strapped it up again and replaced it, and walked out 
of the office toward the depot. 

He had gone but a few steps from the building 
when he saw the man who had been ordered out of 
the city by the Provost, and who seemed to be on the 
lookout for the Deacon. He came up, greeted the 
Deacon effusively and shook hands. 

“You’re from Posey County, Ind., I believe? I 
used to live there myself. Know Judge Drake?” 

“Very well,” answered the Deacon a little stiffiy, 
for he was on his guard against cordial stragers. 

“You do,” said the stranger warmly. “Splendid 
man. Great lawyer. Fine judge. I had a great 
deal to do with him at one time.” 

“Probably he had a great deal to do with you,” 
thought the Deacon. “He was a terror to evil-doers.” 

“Say, my friend,” said the stranger abruptly, “you 
got a pass. I couldn’t. That old rascal of a Provost- 
Marshal’s down on me because I wouldn’t let him 
into a speculation with me. He’s on the make every 
time, and wants to hog everything. Say, you’re a 
sly one. You worked him fine on that wounded son 
racket. I think I’d like to tie to you. I’ll make it 


A DISTURBING MESSAGE. 


237 


worth your while to turn over that pass to me. It’ll 
fit me just as well as it does you. I’ll give you $50 
to let me use that pass just two days, and then I’ll 
return it to you.” 

“Why, you’re crazy,” gasped the Deacon. 

“O, come off, now,” said the other impatiently. 
“Business is business. I haint no time to waste. It’s 



more’n it’s worth to me, but I’ll make it $100, and 
agree to be back on this spot to-morrow night with 
your pass. You can’t make $100 as easy any other 
way.” 

“I tell you, you’re crazy,” said the Deacon with 
rising indignation. “You can’t have that pass for 


238 


SI KLEGG. 


no amount o' money. I'm goin' to see my wounded 
son." 

‘That's a good enough gag for the Provost, but I 
understand you, in spite of your hayseed airs. Say, 
I'll make it $250." 

“I tell you, you old fool," said the Deacon angrily, 
“I won't sell that pass for a mint o' money. Even if 
I wasn't goin' to see my son I wouldn't let you have 
it under any circumstances, to use in your traitorous 
business. Let go o' my coat, if you know what's 
good for you." 

“Now, look here," said the stranger; “I've made 
you a mighty fair proposition — more'n the pass's 
worth to you. If you don't accept it you'll wish you 
had. I'm onto you. I'll go right back to the Provost 
and let out on you. I know enough to settle your 
hash mighty sudden. Dou you hear me?" 

It was very near train time, and the Deacon was 
desperately anxious to not miss the train. He had 
already wasted more words on this man than he 
usually did on those he didn't like, and he simply 
ended the colloquy with a shove that sent the im- 
pertinent stranger into the gutter as if a mule had 
kicked him there, hurried on to the depot, and man- 
aged to get on just as the train was moving out. 

It was night, and he dozed in his seat until the 
train reached Bridgeport, Ala., when everybody was 
turned out of the train, and a general inspection of 
the passengers made. 

“Very sorry for you, sir," said the Lieutenant; 
“but we can't let you go on. Your pass is all right 
up to this point, but the Commandant at Nashville 
has no authority here. Orders are very strict 


A DISTURBING MESSAGE. 


239 


against any more civilians coming to Chattanooga 
under any pretext. Rations are very short, and 
there is danger of their being much shorter, with the 
rebel cavalry slashing around everywhere at our 
cracker-line. We only saved two bridges to-night by 
the greatest luck. You’ll have to go back to Nash- 
ville by the next train.” 

‘‘0, Mister Lootenant,” pleaded the Deacon, with 
drops of sweat on his brow. '‘Please let me go on. 
My only son lays there in Chattanooga, a-dyin’ for 
all I know. He’s bin a good soldier. Ask anybody 
that knows the 200th Injianny, and they’ll tell you 
that there ain’t no better soldier in the regiment than 
Corporal Si Klegg. You’ve a father yourself. Think 
how he’d feel if you was layin’ in a hospital at the 
pint o’ death, and him not able to git to you. You’ll 
let me go on, I know you will. It aint in you to re- 
fuse.” 

“I feel awful sorry for you sir,” said the Lieuten- 
ant, much moved. “And if I had it in my power you 
should go. But I have got my orders, and I must 
obey them. I musn’t allow anybody not actually be- 
longing to the army to pass on across the river on 
the train.” 

“I’ll walk every step o’ the way, if you’ll let me 
go on,” said the Deacon. 

“I tell you what you might do,” said the Lieuten- 
ant suggestively. “It isn’t a great ways over the 
mountains to Chattanooga. There’s a herd of cattle 
starting over there. The Lieutenant in charge is a 
friend of mine. I’ll speak to him to let you go along 
as a helper. It’ll be something of a walk for you, 


240 


SI KLEGG. 


but it’s the best I can do. You’ll get in there some 
time to-morrow.” 

“P’int out your friend to me, and let me go as 
quick as I kin.” 

“All right,” said the Lieutenant in charge of the 
herd, when the circumstances were explained to him. 
“Free passes over my road to Chattanooga are 
barred. Everybody has to work his way. But I’ll 
see that you get there, if Joe Wheeler’s cavalry don’t 
interfere. We are going over in the dark to avoid 
them. You can put your carpet-bag in that wagon 
there. Report to the Herd-Boss there.” 

“You look like a man of sense,” said the Herd- 
Boss, looking him over, and handing him a hickory 
gad. “And I believe you’re all right. I’m goin’ to 
put you at the head, just behind the guide. Keep your 
eye peeled for rebel cavalry and bushwhackers, and 
stop and whistle for me if you see anything sus- 
picious.” 

It was slow, toilsome work urging the lumbering 
cattle along over the steep, tortuous mountain paths. 
Naturally, the nimblest, friskiest steers got in the 
front, and they were' a sore trial to the Deacon, to 
restrain them to the line of march, and keep them 
from straying off and getting lost. Of course, a 
Deacon in the Baptist Church could not swear under 
any provocation, but the way he remarked on the 
conduct of some of the “critters” as “dumbed,” “con- 
founded,” and “tormented,” had almost as vicious a 
ring as the profuse profanity of his fellow-herders. 

Late in the afternoon the tired-out herd was 
halted in a creek bottom near Chattanooga. The 
patient animals lay down, and the weary, footsore 


A DISTURBING MESSAGE. 


241 


Deacon, his clothes covered with burs, his hands and 
face seamed with bloody scratches, leaned on his 
frayed gad and looked around over the wilderness 
of tents, cabins, trains and interminable lines of 
breastworks and forts. 

“Mr. Klegg,’' said the Herd-Boss, coming toward 
him, “youVe done your duty, and you’ve done it 
well. I don’t know how I could’ve ever got this lot 
through but for your help. Here’s your carpet-sack, 
and here’s a haversack o’ rations I’ve put up for you. 
Take mighty good care of it, for you’ll need every 
cracker. That lot o’ tents you see over there, with 
a yaller flag flyin’ over ’em, is a general hospital. 
Mebbe you’ll find your son in there.” 

The Deacon walked straight to the nearest tent, 
lifted the flap and inquired : 

“Does anybody here know where there is a boy 
named Si Klegg, of Co. Q, 200th Injianny Volun- 
teers ?” 

“Pap, is that you?” said a weak voice in the far 
corner. 

“Great, jumpin’ Jehosephat, the Deacon!” ejacu- 
lated a tall skeleton of a man, who was holding a cup 
of coffee to Si’s lips. 

“Great Goodness, Shorty,” said the Deacon, “is 
that you?” 

“What’s left o’ me,” answered Shorty. 


9 


CHAPTER XIX. 


TEDIOUS CONVALESCENCE — THE DEACON COMMITS A 
CRIME AGAINST HIS CONSCIENCE. 

OU are the father of that boy in the far 
^ end of the tent/' said the Surgeon com- 
ing up to the Deacon, who had stepped 
outside of the tent to get an opportunity to think 
clearly. “I’m very glad you have come, for his life 
hangs by a thread. That thread is his pluck, aided 
by a superb constitution. Most men would have 
died on the field from such a wound. Medicine can 
do but little for him; careful nursing much more; 
but his own will and your presence and encourage- 
ment will do far more than either.” 

“How about Shorty?” inquired the Deacon. 

“Shorty’s all right if he don’t get a setback. 
The danger from the blow on his head is pretty 
near past, if something don’t come in to make 
further complications. He has been pulled down 
pretty badly by the low fever which has been epi- 
demic here since we have settled down in camp, but 
he seems to be coming out from it all right.” 

“I’ve come down here to do all that’s possible 
for these two boys. Now, how kin I best do it?” 
asked the Deacon. 

“You can do good by helping nurse them. You 
could do much more good if there was more to do 
with, but we lack almost everything for the proper 


TEDIOUS CONVALESCENCE. 


243 


care of the wounded and sick. We have 15,000 men 
in hospital here, and not supplies enough for 3,000. 
When we will get more depends on just what luck 
our cavalry has in keeping the rebels off our line 
of supplies.” 

‘‘Show me what to do, give me what you kin, and 
I’ll trust in the Lord and my own efforts for the 
rest.” 

“Yes, and you kin count on me to assist,” chimed 
in Shorty, who had come up. “I won’t let you 
play lone hand long. Deacon, for I’m gittin’ chirpier 
every day. If I could only fill up good and full once 
more on hardtack and pork, or some sich luxuries, 
I’d be as good as new agin.” 

“You mean you’d be put to bed under three feet 
of red clay, if you were allowed to eat all you want 
to,” said the Surgeon. “There’s where the wind 
is tempered to the shorn lamb. If you could eat as 
much as you want to eat, I should speedily have to 
bid good-by to you. For the present, Mr. Klegg, 
do anything that suggests itself to you to make 
these men comfortable. I need scarcely caution you 
to be careful about their food, for there is nothing 
that you can get hold of to over-feed them. But 
you’d better not let them have anything to eat until 
I come around again and talk to you more fully. 
I put them in your charge.” 

The Deacon’s first thought was for Si, and he 
bestirred himself to do what he thought his wife, 
who was renowned as a nurse, would do were she 
there. 

He warmed some water, and tenderly as he could 
command his strong, stubby hands, washed Si’s 


244 


SI KLEGG. 


face, hands and feet, and combed his hair. The 
overworked hospital attendants had had no time for 
this much-needed ministration. It was all that they 
could do to get the wounded under some sort of shel- 
ter, to dress their wounds, and prepare food. No 
well man could be spared from the trenches for 
hospital service, for the sadly-diminished Army of 
the Cumberland needed every man who could carry 
a musket to man the long lines to repel the con- 
stantly-threatened assaults. 

The removal of the soil and grime of the march 
and battle had a remarkably vivifying effect upon 
Si. New life seemed to pulse through his veins 
and brightness return to his eyes. 

“Makes me feel like a new man. Pap,'’ he said 
faintly. “Feels better than anything I ever knowed. 
Do the same to Shorty, Pap." 

“Come here. Shorty, you dirty little rascal," said 
the Deacon, assuming a severely maternal tone, at 
which Si laughed feebly but cheerily, “and let me 
wash your face and comb your hair." 

Shorty demurred a little at being treated like a 
boy, and protested that he could wash himself, if 
the Deacon would get him some warm water; but 
he saw that the conceit amused Si, and submitted to 
having the Deacon give him a scrubbing with a 
soapy rag, giving a yell from time to time, in imita- 
tion of an urchin undergoing an unwilling ablution. 
Si turned his head so as to witness the operation, 
and grinned throughout it. 

“I think you’d both feel still better if you could 
have your hair cut," said the Deacon, as he finished 
and looked from one to the other. “Your hair’s too 


TEDIOUS CONVALESCENCE. 


245 


long for sick people, and it makes you look sicker’n 
you really are. But I hain’t got no shears.’' 

know rd feel better if I was sheared,” said 
Shorty. “Hain’t neither of us had our hair cut 
since we started on the Tullyhomy campaign, and 
I think I look like the Wild Man from Borneo. I 
think I know a feller that has a pair o’ shears that 
I kin borry.” 

The shears were found and borrowed. Then en- 
sued a discussion as to the style of the cut. The 
boys wanted their hair taken off close to their 
heads, but the Deacon demurred to this for fear 
they would catch cold. 

'‘No, Si,” he said; 'T’m goin’ to cut your hair 
jest like your mother used to. She used to tie one of 
her garters from your forehead down across your 
ears, and cut off all the hair that stuck out. I 
hain’t any garter, but I guess I kin find a string 
that’ll do jest as well.” 

"There,” said the Deacon, as he finished shear- 
ing off the superabundant hair, and surveyed the 
work. "That ain’t as purty a job as if your 
mother’d done it, but you’ll feel lighter and cleaner, 
and be healthier. If hair was only worth as much 
as wool is now, I’d have enough to pay me for the 
job. But I must clean it up keerfully and burn it, 
that the birds mayn’t git hold of it and give you 
the headache.” 

The Deacon had his little superstitions, like a 
great many other hard-headed, sensible men. 

"Well, Mr. Klegg,” said the Surgeon, when he 
made his next round, "I must congratulate you on 
your patients. Both show a remarkable improve- 


246 


SI KLEGG. 


ment. You ought to apply for a diploma, and go 
into the practice of medicine. You have done more 
for them in the two or three hours than I have been 
able to do in as many weeks. If you could only 
keep up this pace awhile I would be able to reurn 
them to duty very soon. I have an idea. Do you 
see that corn-crib over there?’' 

'The one built of poles? Yes.” 

“Well, I have some things stored there, and I have 
been able to hold it so far against the soldiers, 
who are snatching every stick of wood they can 
find, for their cabins, or for the breastworks, or 
firewood. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to 
keep it, unless I have personal possession. I be- 
lieve you can make it into a comfortable place for 
these two men. That will help them, you can be 
by yourselves, you can take care of my things, and 
it will relieve the crowd in the tent.” 

“Splendid idea,” warmly assented the Deacon. 
“I’ll chink and daub it, and make it entirely com- 
fortable, and fix up bunks in it for the boys. I 
know they’ll be delighted at the change. I wonder 
where Shorty is?” 

The Deacon had just remembered that he had not 
seen that individual for some little time, and looked 
around for him with some concern. It was well 
that he did. Shorty had come across the haversack 
that the Deacon had brought, and it awakened all 
his old predatory instincts, sharpened, if anything, 
by his feebleness. Without saying a word to any- 
body, he had employed the time while the Surgeon 
and Deacon were in conversation in preparing one 
of his customary gorges after a long, hard march. 


TEDIOUS CONVALESCENCE. 


247 


He had broken up the crackers into a tin-cup of 
water which sat by his side, while he was frying 
out pieces of fat pork in a half-canteen. 

''My goodness, man I” shouted the Deacon, spring- 
ing toward him. "Are you crazy? If you eat that 
mess you'll be dead before morning." 

He sprang toward him, snatched the half-canteen 
from his hand, and threw its contents on the ground. 

"That stuff’s not fit to put into an ostrich’s stom- 
ach,’’ he said. "Mr. Klegg, you will have to watch 
this man very carefully.’’ 

"Can’t I have none of it to eat?’’ said Shorty, de- 
jectedly, with tears of weakness and longing in his 
eyes. 

"Not a mouthful of that stuff,’’ said the Surgeon ; 
"but you may eat some of those crackers you have 
soaked there. Mr. Klegg, let him eat about half 
of those crackers — no more.’’ 

Shorty looked as if the whole world had lost its 
charms. "Hardtack without grease’s no more taste 
than chips,’’ he murmured. 

"Never mind. Shorty,’’ said the Deacon, pityingly ; 
"I’ll manage to find you something that’ll be better 
for you than that stuff.’’ 

The Surgeon had the boys carried over to the 
corncrib, and the Deacon went to work to make it as 
snug as possible. All the old training of his pio- 
neer days — when literally with his own hands, and 
with the rudest materials, he had built a comfort- 
able cabin in the wilderness of the Wabash bot- 
toms for his young wife — came back to him. He 
could not see a brick, a piece of board, a stick, or 
a bit of iron anywhere without the thought that 


248 


SI KLEGG. 


it might be made useful, and carrying it off. As 
there were about 40,000 other men around the lit- 
tle village of Chattanooga with similar inclina- 
tions, the Deacon had need of all his shrewdness 
in securing coveted materials, but it was rare that 
anybody got ahead of him. He rearranged and 
patched the clapboards on the roof until it was per- 
fectly rain-tight, chinked up the spaces between the 
poles with stones, corncobs and pieces of wood, and 
plastered over the outside with clay, until the walls 
were draft proof. He hung up an old blanket for 
a door, and hired a teamster to bring in a load of 
silky-fine beech leaves which, when freshly fallen, 
make a bed that cannot be surpassed. These, by 
spreading blankets over them, made very comfort- 
able couches for Si, Shorty and himself. 

Then the great problem became one of proper 
food for the boys. Daily the rations were grow- 
ing shorter in Chattanooga, and if they had been 
plentiful they were not suited to the delicate stom- 
achs of those seriously ill. Si was slowly improving, 
but the Deacon felt that the thing necessary to carry 
him over the breakers and land him safely on the 
shores of recovery was nourishing food that he 
• could relish. 

He had anxiously sought the entire length of the 
camp for something of that kind. He had visited 
all the sutlers, and canvassed the scanty stocks in 
the few stores in Chattanooga. He had bought the 
sole remaining can of tomatoes at a price which 
would have almost bought the field in which the 
tomatoes were raised, and he had turned over the 
remnant lots of herring, cheese, etc., he found at 


TEDIOUS CONVALESCENCE. 


249 


the sutler’s, with despair at imagining any sort 
of way in which they could be worked up to become 
appetizing and assimilative to Si’s stomach. 

“What you and Si needs,” he would say to Shorty, 
“is chicken and fresh ’taters. If you could have 
a good mess of chicken and ’taters every day you’d 
come up like Spring shoats. I declare I’d give that 
crick bottom medder o’ mine, which hasn’t it’s beat 
on the Wabash, to have mother’s coopful o’ chickens 
here this minute.” 

But a chicken was no more to be had in Chatta- 
nooga than a Delmonico banquet. The table of the 
Major-General comipanding the Army of the Cum- 
berland might have a little more hardtack and pork 
on it than appeared in the tents of the privates, 
and be cooked a little better, but it had nothing but 
hardtack and pork. 

The Deacon made excursions into the country, and 
even ran great risks from the rebel pickets and 
bushwhackers, in search of chickens. But the coun- 
try had been stripped, by one side or the other, of 
everything eatable, and the people that remained in 
their cheerless homes were dependent upon what 
they could get from the United States Commissary. 

One day he found the Herd-Boss in camp, and 
poured forth his troubles to him. The Herd-Boss 
sympathized deeply with him, and cudgeled his 
brains for a way to help. 

“I’ll tell you what you might do,” he said at 
length, “if you care to take the risk. We’re goin’ 
back with some teams to Bridgeport to-morrow 
mornin’. You might git in one of the wagons and 
ride back 10 or 15 miles to a little valley that I 


250 


SI KLEGG. 


remember that’s there, and which I think looks like 
it hain’t bin foraged. I was thinkin’ as we come 
through the other day that I might git something 
good to eat up there, and I’d try it some day. No- 
body seems to ’ve noticed it yit. But it may be 
chock full o’ rebels, for all I know, and a feller 
git jumped the moment he sets foot in it.” 

“I’ll take my chances,” said the Deacon. “I’ll go 
along with you to-morrer mornin’.” 

The Deacon found that a ride in a wagon was not 
such an unqualified favor as he might have thought. 
The poor, half -fed, overworked mules went so slowly 
that the Deacon could make better time walking, 
and he was too merciful to allow them to pull him up 
hill. 

The result was that, with helping pry the stalled 
wagons out and work in making the roads more 
passable, the Deacon expended more labor than if 
he had started out to walk in the first place. 

It was late in the afternoon when the Herd-Boss 
said : 

“There, you take that path to the right, and in 
a little ways you’ll come out by a purty good house. 
I hain’t seen any Johnnies around in this neigh- 
borhood since I’ve bin travelin’ this route, but you’d 
better keep your eye peeled, all the same. If you 
see any, skip back to the road here, and wait awhile. 
Somebody ’ll be passin’ before long.” 

Thanking him, the Deacon set out for the house, 
hoping to be able to reach it, get some fowls, and 
be back to Chattanooga before morning. If he got 
the chickens, he felt sanguine that he could save 
Si’s life. 


TEDIOUS CONVALESCENCE. 


251 


He soon came in sight of the house, the only one, 
apparently, for miles, and scanned it carefully. 
There were no men to be seen, though the house 
appeared to be inhabited. He took another look at 
the heavy revolver which he had borrowed from the 
Surgeon, and carried ready for use in the pocket 
of Si's overcoat, and began a strategic advance, keep- 
ing well out of sight under the cover of the sumachs 
lining the fences. 

Still he saw no one, and finally he became so bold 
as to leave his covert and walk straight to the 
front door. A dozen dogs charged at him with a 
wild hullabaloo, but he had anticipated this, and 
picked up a stout hickory switch in the road, which 
he wielded with his left hand with so much effect 
that they ran howling back under the house. He 
kept his right hand firmly grasping his revolver. 

An old man and his wife appeared at the door; 
both of them shoved back their spectacles until 
they rested on the tops of their heads, and scanned 
him searchingly. The old woman had a law-book 
in her hand, and the old man a quill pen. She had 
evidently been reading to him, and he copying. 

The old man called out to him imperiously: 

“Heah, stranger, who air yo’? An' what d'yo' 
want?" 

The tone was so harsh and repellant that the 
Deacon thought that he would disarm hostility by 
announcing himself a plain citizen, like themselves. 
So he replied: 

‘T'm a farmer, and a citizen from Injianny, and 
I want to buy some chickens for my son, who's 
sick in the hospital at Chattanoogy." 


252 


SI KLEGG. 


''Injianny sneered the old man. "‘Meanest peo- 
ple in the world live in Injianny. Settled by scala- 
wags that we'uns run outen Tennessee bekase they- 
'uns wuz too onery to live heah.'' 

“Citizen!’^ echoed the woman. “They’uns heap 
sight wuss'n the soldjers. Teamsters, gamblers, 
camp-followers, thieves, that’ll steal the coppers 
often a dead man’s eyes. I had a sister that married 
a man that beat her, and then run off to Injianny, 
leavin’ her with six children to support. All the 
mean men go to Injianny. Cl’ar out. We don’t want 
nobody ’round heah, and specially no Injiannians. 
They’uns is a pizun lot.” 

“Yes, cl’ar out immejitly,” commanded the old 
man. “I’m a Jestice of the Peace, and ef you don’t 
go to wunst I’ll find a way to make yo’. We’ve a 
law agin able-bodied vagrants. Cl’ar out, now.” 

“Come, have a little sense,” said the Deacon, not 
a little roiled at the abuse of his State. “I’m just 
as respectable a man as you dare be. I never stole 
anything. I’ve bin all my life a regler member o’ 
the Baptist Church — strict, close-communion, total- 
immersion Baptists. All I want o’ you is to buy 
some o’ them chickens there, and I’ll give you a 
fair price for ’em. No use o’ your flaring up over 
a little matter o’ bizniss.” 

“I don’t believe a word of hit,” said the woman, 
who yet showed that she was touched by the allu- 
sion to the Baptist Church, as the Deacon had calcu- 
lated, for most of the people of that section pro- 
fessed to be of that denomination. “What’ll yo’ gi’ 
me for them chickens?” 

The bargaining instinct arose in the Deacon’s 


TEDIOUS CONVALESCENCE. 


253 


mind, but he repressed it. He had no time to waste. 
He would make an offer that at home would be con- 
sidered wildly extravagant, close the business at 
once and get back to Chattanooga. He said : 

“Fll give you a dollar apiece for five.^^ 


“he took another look at his 

REVOLVER.^^ 


HEAVY 


“Humph,” said the woman contemptuously. “I 
don’t sell them for no dollar apiece. They’uns ’s all 
we got to live on now. If I sell ’em I must git 
somethin’ that’ll go jest as fur. You kin have ’em 
at $5 apiece.” 



254 


SI KLEGG. 


“Betsy,” remonstrated the old man, “I'm afeard 
this 's wrong, and as a Magistrate I shouldn't allow 
hit. Hit's traffickin' with the inemy.''^ 

“No, hit hain't,” she asserted. “He's not a soljer. 
He's a citizen, and don't belong to the army. Be- 
sides, he's a Baptist, and hit hain't so bad as ef he 
wuz a Presbyterian, or a shoutin' Methodist. Most 
of all. I'm nearly dead for some coffee, and I know 
whar I kin git a pound o' rayle coffee for $10.” 

The Deacon had been pondering. To his thrifty 
mind it seemed like a waste to give a crisp, new $5 
bill for such an insignificant thing as a chicken. 
Like Indiana farmers of his period, he regarded such 
things as chickens, eggs, butter, etc., as “too trifling 
for full-grown men to bother about. They were 
wholly women-folks' truck.” He Angered the bills 
in his bosom, and thought how many bushels of 
wheat and pounds of pork they represented. Then 
he thought of Si in the hospital, and how a little 
chicken broth would build him up. Out came five 
new $5 bills. 

“Here's your money,” he said, thumbing over the 
bills clumsily and regretfully. 

The old woman lowered her spectacles from the 
top of her head, and scrutinized them. 

“What's them?” she asked suspiciously. 

“Why, them's greenbacks — Government money — 
the very best kind,” explained the Deacon. “You 
can't have no better'n that.” 

“Don't tech hit! Don't have nothin' to do with 
it!” shouted the old man. “Hit's high treason to 
take Federal money. Law's awful severe about that. 
Not less'n one year, nor more'n 20 in the peniten- 


TEDIOUS CONVALESCENCE. 


255 


tiary, for a citizen, and death for a soljer, to be 
ketched dealin' in the inemy’s money. I kin turn 
yo' right to the law. Ole man, take yo’ money and 
cFar off the place immejitly. Go out and gather up 
yo’ chickens, Betsy, and fasten ’em in the coop. Go 
away, sah, or I shell blpw the horn for help.” 

''I wuz talkin’ ’bout Confederit money,” said the 
woman, half apologetically. “I wouldn’t tech that 
’ere stuff with a soap-stick. Yo’d better git away 
as quick as yo’ kin ef yo’ know what’s good for yo’.” 

She went into the yard to gather up her flock, 
and the Deacon walked back into the road. When 
out of sight, he sat down on a rock to meditate. 
There was not another house in sight anywhere, 
and it was rapidly growing dark. If he went to an- 
other house he would probably have the same experi- 
ence. He had set his heart on having those chickens, 
and he was a pretty stubborn man. Somehow, in 
spite of himself, he parted the bushes and looked 
through to see where the woman was housing her 
fowls, and noted that it was going to be very dark. 
Then he blushed vividly, all to himself, over the 
thoughts which arose. 

“To think of me, a Deacon in the Baptist Church, 
akchelly meditatin’ about goin’ to another man’s 
coop at night and stealin’ his chickens ? Could Maria 
ever be made to believe such a thing? I can’t be- 
lieve it myself.” 

Then he made himself think of all the other ways 
in which he might get chickens. They all seemed 
impossible. He turned again to those in the coop. 

“Nothin’ but measly dunhills, after all — dear at 
a flp-and-a-bit, and yet I offered her a dollar apiece 


256 


SI KLEGG. 


for ’em. If she’d bin a real Christian woman she’d 
bin glad to ’ve given me the chickens for as sick 
as man as Si is. Gracious, mother’d give every 
chicken on the place, if it’d help a sick person, and 
be glad o’ the chance. They’re both tough old rebels, 
anyhow, and their property oughtter be confiscated.” 

He stopped and considered the morals of the affair 
a little further, and somehow the idea of taking 
the fowls by stealth did not seem so abhorrent as 
at first. Then, everything was overslaughed by 
the thought of going into camp with the precious 
birds, of cleaning one and carefully stewing it, mak- 
ing a delicate, fragrant broth, the very smell of 
which would revive Si, and every spoonful bring 
nourishment and strength. 

‘‘Mebbe the army’s demoralizin’ me,” he said to 
himself; '‘but I believe it’s a work o’ necessity and 
mercy, that don’t stand on nice considerations. I’m 
goin’ to have five o’ them chickens, or know the rea- 
son why.” 

As has been before remarked, when Deacon Klegg 
made up his mind something had to happen. It 
was now quite dark. He took one of the $5 bills 
out of his breast pocket and put it in a pocket where 
it would be handy. He looked over at the house, 
and saw the old man and woman sitting by the fire 
smoking. He picked up the hickory withe to keep 
off the dogs, and made a circuit to reach the chicken- 
coop from the rear of the house. The dogs were 
quarreling and snarling over their supper, and paid 
no attention to him, until he had reached the coop, 
when they came at him full tilt. 

The Deacon dealt the foremost ones such vicious 


TEDIOUS CONVALESCENCE. 


257 


blows that the beasts fell as if they had been cut 
in two, and ran howling under the house. With a 
quickness and skill that would have done credit to 
any veteran in the army, he snatched five chickens 
from their roosts, wrung their necks, and gathered 
them in his left hand. Alarmed by the noise of 
the barking and yelping, the old couple fiung open 
the door and rushed out on the porch with shouts. 
The open door threw a long lane of bright light di- 
rectly on the Deacon. 

‘‘Blow the horn, granddad — blow the horn,’' 
screamed the woman. Her husband snatched the tin 
horn down from the wall, and put all his anger into 
a ringing blast. It was immediately answered by 
a shot from a distant hill. Still holding his game 
in his left hand, the Deacon pulled the $5 bill out 
of his pocket with his right, walked up to the porch, 
laid it at the woman’s feet and put a stone on it. 

“There’s full pay for your dumbed old dunghills, 
you cantankerous rebel,” said he, as he disappeared 
into the darkness. “Go into the house and pray that 
the Lord may soften your heart, which is harder 
than Phaiaoh’s, until you have some Christian 
grace.” 

When he reached the road he could hear the sound 
of hoofs galloping toward the house. He smiled 
grimly, but kept under the shadow of the trees until 
he reached the main road leading to Chattanooga, 
where he was lucky enough to find a train making 
its slow progress toward the town, and kept with it 
until he was within our lines. 


CHAPTER XX. 


STEWED CHICKEN — THE DEACON'S CULINARY OPERA- 
TIONS BRING HIM LOTS OF TROUBLE. 

T he Deacon reached the corn-crib again be- 
fore daylight, and found Si and Shorty fast 
asleep. This relieved him much, for he had 
been disturbed with apprehensions of what might 
happen them while he was gone. Though he was 
more tired, it seemed to him, than he had ever been 
before in all his life, yet he nerved himself up to 
clean and cook one of the chickens, so as to give 
Si a delightful surprise when he awoke. 

The Deacon had grown so wise in the army ways 
that his first problem was how to hide the remaining 
four fowls until he should need them. 

‘T'd simply be mobbed," he communed with him- 
self, “if daylight should come, and show me with 
four chickens in my possession. The whole Army 
o' the Cumberland 'd jump me as one man, and Fd 
be lucky if I got away with my life. Mebbe even 
the General himself 'd send a regiment down to 
take the things away from me. But what kin I do 
with 'em? If I hang 'em up inside the com-crib 
they'll spile. The weather is cold enough to keep 
'em outside, but I'd need a burglar-proof safe to 
hold on to 'em. It's just awful that morals are so 
bad in the army, and that men will take things that 
don't belong to 'em." 


STEWED CHICKEN. 


259 


He stopped short, for there arose the disturbing 
thought as to just how he himself had come into 
possession of the birds, and he murmured: 

Tain’t in me to blame ’em. What is ’t the Bible 
says about ‘Let him who is without sin cast the 
first stone?’ Certainly I’m not the man to be heavin’ 
dornicks just now.” 

Mindful of past experiences, he took the fowls in 
one hand, when he went down to the branch with 
a camp-kettle to get water. He washed his face 
and hands in the cold water, which revived him, and 
returning, built a fire and hung the kettle over it, 
while he carefully picked and cleaned one of the 
chickens for cooking. Then he plucked and cleaned 
the others, and burned the feathers and entrails in 
the fire. 

“Chicken feathers ’s mighty tell-tale things,” he 
said to himself. “I once knowed a man that was 
finally landed in the penitentiary because he didn’t 
look out for chicken feathers. He’d bin stealin’ 
bosses, and was hidin’ with them in the big swamp, 
where nobody would ’ve suspicioned he was, if he 
hadn’t stole chickens from the neighborhood to live 
on, and left their feathers layin’ around careless 
like, ^ad some boys, who thought the foxes was 
killin’ the chickens, followed up the trail and run 
onto him.” 

Then a bright idea occurred to him. He had a 
piece of board, which he laid on the stones that 
formed the foundation of one end of the crib, im- 
mediately under the flooring, and on this shelf he 
laid the other chickens. 

“I remember that Wash Jenkins that we arrested 


260 


SI KLEGG. 


for counterfeitin’ had hid his pile o’ pewter dollars 
in the underpinnin’ of his cabin, and we’d never 
found any stuff to convict him, except by the merest 
accident. We hunted all through his cabin, below 
and in the loft, pulled the clapboards off, and dug 
up every likely place in the yard, and just about 
as we wuz givin’ the whole thing up, somebody 
pulled a board out o’ the underpinnin’ to lay in 
the bed o’ his wagon, and the bogus dollars run out. 
Wash made shoes for the State down at Jefferson- 
ville for some years on account of that man wantin’ 
a piece o’ board for his wagon-bed.” 

But the astute Deacon had overlooked one thing 
in his calculations. The crisp morning air was filled 
with the pungent smell of burning feathers and 
flesh, and the fragrance of stewing chicken. It 
reached hungry men in every direction, made their 
mouths water and their minds wonder where it 
could come from. 

First came a famished dog, sniffing and nosing 
around. His appearance filled the Deacon with 
alarm. Here was danger to his hidden stock that 
he had not thought of. He took his resolution at 
once. Decoying the cur near him he fastened a 
sinewy hand upon his neck, cut his throat with his 
jack-knife, and dragged the carcass some distance 
away from the corn-crib. 

“I’ll git a mattock and shovel and bury it after 
awhile,” he murmured to himself, as he returned 
and washed his hands. “He’s settled for good, any- 
way. He won’t be snoopin’ around stealin’ my 
chickens. I hope there hain’t no more measly 
hounds around. Should’ve thought they wuz all 


STEWED CHICKEN. 


261 


starved out long ago. My! but that chicken does 
smell so nice. How Si and Shorty will enjoy it. 
It'll build 'em right up. I'd like awfully to take some 
of it myself, but they'll need every drop, poor fel- 
lows." 

He got a spoon, and teasted some of the broth 
appreciatively. 

“Mother'd done much better, at home in her own 
kitchen, or anywhere you could've put her, than me 
with my clumsy ways," he continued, “but she never 
cooked anything that'll taste better to them boys." 

A negro cook appeared, with a tin cup in his hand. 

“Afo' de Lawd, Boss, is hit you dat's cookin' dat 
chicking? I done smelled hit more'n a miled away, 
and hab been huntin' foh hit all ober camp. Say, 
Boss, foh de Lawd's sake, jist gib me a little teenty, 
weenty sup in dis heah tin cup for my boss. He's 
an ossifei:, an' is layin' in de ossifer’s horsepitol 
ober dar. Hit'll do him a powerful sight ob good." 

“Awful sorry, my friend," said the Deacon, hard- 
ening his heart, “but I haven't a bit to spare. Hain't 
got as much as I need for my own son and his part- 
ner. I couldn't spare a mouthful for the General 
o' the army even. Let your Colonel or Major send 
out men to git chickens for himself." ' 

“My boss'll be powehful disappunted," said the 
negro, with his big, white eyes full of tears. “He's 
powehful weak, foh sartin. A leetle sup ob broth'd 
do him an everlastin' world ob good. He ain't no 
Kunnel or Majah. He's only a Cappen — Cappen Mc- 
Gillicuddy, ob the 200th Injianny." 

“Capt. McGillicuddy, o' the 200th Injianny," said 


262 


SI KLEGG. 


the Deacon, much moved. ''You say you're Capt. 
McGillicuddy's man?" 

"Yes, boss." 

"And he’s layin’ very low over in a tent there?" 

"Yes, boss. Got shot in de thigh in de battle, an’ 
den had de feber. He’s de very best man in de 
world, and I’d do ennyt’ing to help him. He’s jest 
starvin’ to def. I can’t git nuffin’ dat’ll lay on his 
stummick, and stick to his ribs. I’ve done ransacked 
de hull camp and de country clean up to Jineral 
Bragg’s Headquartehs. De tings dat I couldn’t git 
wuz eider chained down, or had a man wid a gun 
ober dem. Foh Gawd’s sake, boss, jist gib me a 
half a cupful for him." 

"There’s no man in the world I’d rather help than 
Capt. McGillicuddy," said the Deacon. "He’s bin 
a mighty good friend to my son. I know that Si 
and Shorty’d divide their last crumb .with him. 
Look here. Sambo, if I give you a cupful o’ this 
broth and a piece o’ the meat, will you git down on 
your knees and swear you’ll take every bit straight 
to him, and not take even a smidjm of it for your- 
self?" 

"De Lawd be praised and magnified foreber, but 
I will," said the negro, dropping on his knees and 
holding up his hand. "Swar me on a pile o’ Bibles 
big as a haystack. I’d radder go to hell on my knees 
backward dan tech de fust drap ob dat. I’s too anx- 
ious to hab Cappen McGillicuddy git well, so I is. 
What’d become ob dis pore niggeh if he should die? 
No, indeedy. Hope I’ll drap dead in my tracks if 
I taste de least wee morssel." 

"I’m goin’ to trust you," said the Deacon, stirring 


STEWED CHICKEN. 


263 


up the savory mess, ladling out a generous cupful, 
adding a drumstick, and covering the cup with a 
piece of paper. “Now, carry it carefully. Every 
drop’s worth its weight in gold.” 

The Deacon looked a little regretful at the shrink- 
ing of the contents of the kettle, made by taking 
out the cupful, and said : 

“Mebbe I oughtn’t ’ve done it. The boys need 
every spoonful. But if it’d bin themselves, I know 
they’d have given their Captain more’n I did. He is 
twice blessed that giveth, and probably they’ll git 
more somehow on account o’ what I’ve given away. 
But I mustn’t give any more.” 

“Say, Mister,” said a very feeble voice at his 
elbow, “can’t you give me a cupful o’ that? It smells 
so good. It smells like home. I smelled it away 
over there in the tent, and it seemed to me that if 
I could get some of it I’d certainly get well, though 
they all say they think there’s no hope for me. I 
crawled out of the tent and come while the nurse 
was asleep and wasn’t watching. They won’t let 
me get upon my feet when they’re watching me, 
but I fooled them this time.” 

As he spoke, he sank down from sheer exhaustion, 
but still held out his cup imploringly, while an in- 
tense longing filled his great, blue eyes. 

The Deacon looked pityingly at him. His wan 
face was fair and delicate as a girl’s, and even be- 
fore disease had wasted him he had been very tall 
and slender. Now his uniform flapped around his 
shrunken body and limbs. 

Te Deacon could not stand the appeal of those 
great, plaintive eyes and that wasted form. 


264 


SI KLEGG. 


'‘The Lord blesses the giver,” he said, taking the 
cup from the thin hand, and proceeding to fill it 
from the kettle. “It may be that my own son will 



have the more from what I give this poor sick boy. It 
may be bread cast upon the waters. At any rate, 
I’m goin’ to take the chances. There’s still enough 
left for one meal for Si and Shorty, and I’ve four 
chickens left. After that the Lord’ll provide. I’ll 


STEWED CHICKEN. 


265 


do this in His name, and I’ll trust Him. There, 
my boy, let the cup set on the ground till it cools, 
and then drink it, and here’s a piece o’ bread to go 
with it.” 

The boy could scarcely wait for the cooling, and 
his swimming eyes expressed a gratitude that no 
words could convey. 

“Here, pardner. I’ll take a cupful o’ that ’ere, too,” 
said a frazzled and frowsy teamster, shambling up 
through the half-light of the dawn. “I smelled it, 
and follered my nose till it brung me here. My, but 
it smells good ! Jest fill my cup, and I’ll do as much 
for you some time when you’re hungry.” 

“Go away. Groundhog,” said the Deacon, recog- 
nizing him. “I’ve only got a little here for Si and 
Shorty. I hain’t a spoonful left for myself, and 
none to give away. Go and get your own chickens, 
and bile ’em yourself.” 

“Can’t have any, eh?” said Groundhog, swagger- 
ing up. “We’ll see about that, old man. I watched 
you givin’ away to that nigger, and this little dead- 
beat here, but you hain’t none to give me, who 
is doin’ hard work for the army, and helpin’ keep 
’em from starvin’. If you’ve got enough for that 
nigger and that whinin’ boy you’ve got enough for 
me, and I’m goin’ to have it, for I need it.” 

“You’re not goin’ to have a dumbed spoonful. 
Groundhog. Go away. I hain’t enough for Si and 
Shorty, I tell you. Go away.” 

“And I tell you I need it more’n they do, for I’m 
workin’ for the whole army, while they’re layin’ 
around, makin’ out they’re sick. You give me a 
cupful o’ that and I’ll go away and make no trouble. 


266 


SI KLEGG. 


If you don’t I’ll kick the whole kettle over. An old 
fool citizen like you ’s got no business in camp, any- 
way, and no right to be havin’ things that ought to 
go to the laborin’ men.” 

And he raised his foot threateningly. 

The Deacon laid down the spoon with which he 
had been stirring the broth, and doubling up his 
mighty fist, placed himself between Groundhog and 
the kettle, and said: 

‘'Groundhog, I’m an old man, and always have 
bin a man o’ peace. I don’t believe in no kind o’ 
fightin’, nor molestin’ no one. I belong to church, 
and ’ve always tried to lead a Christian life. But 
if you don’t skip out o’ here this minute. I’ll bust 
your head as I would a punkin.” 

Groundhog retreated a few steps, but still kept up 
a show of determination. 

“What are you foolin’ with the ole hayseed for?” 
said another teamster, coming up behind Groundhog. 
“Slap the old hawbuck over, snatch up the kittle and 
run with it. I’ll do it if you don’t.” 

“Go for ’em. Deacon; I’m with you. We kin lick 
both of ’em,” shouted Shorty, who had been awak- 
ened by the noise of the dispute, and came tottering 
out, trying to raise a stick of wood for a club. 

At that moment a rebel cannon roared on Look- 
out Mountain, just over them, and the wicked 
screech of a shell cleft the air. Both of the team- 
sters dropped on the ground in a paralysis of fear. 

“The rebels ’ve got a new battery planted on the 
mountain,” said Shorty, turning to study the smoke 
that drifted away, in order to get its location. 

“The shell struck right over there, and hain’t 


STEWED CHICKEN. 


267 


bursted yet” said the sick boy, looking up from 
sipping his broth, and pointing to a spot a short dis- 
tance away. can hear the hissing of the fuse.'’ 

The teamsters sprang up like jacks-in-the-box, 
and ran with all the power of their legs. By the 
time the explosion came they were hundreds of 
yards away. 

A column of dirt and stones was thrown up, of 
which a little sprinkle reached the fire. Thousands 
of voices yelled derisively at the rebel gunner. 

'‘They’re shootin’ wuss and wuss every day,” re- 
marked Shorty, after judicially considering the shot 
and making comparison with its precedessors. 
“They’ll git so after awhile that they can’t hit the 
Tennessee Valley.” 

“Shorty,” said the Deacon, “take this revolver 
and watch that kittle while I wash Si’s face, and git 
him ready for his breakfast. If you let anybody 
git away with it you lose your breakfast. If I ever 
go into restaurantin’ for a bizniss, I’m goin’ to find 
a quieter neighborhood than Chattanoogy. I ain’t 
exactly grumblin’, so to speak, but there’s enough 
excitement before breakfast every mornin’ to last 
me a full year.” 








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